LIBRARY OP CONGRESS. 



Gipit 6opijri5{ji 1}a. 

ShelfP.3>1433 

re*-* 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




HARRIS GEORGE CURTIS. 



POEMS 



BY 



HARRIS GEORGE CURTIS. 




my 2 --Z 



APPLETON, WIS. 

POST PUBLISHING COMPANY, PRINTERS. 

1894. 



■ft ^ 

o 3 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the ypar 1891, 
By Harris George Curtis, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congre 
at Washington. 



TO 

The Memory of my Mother 

This Book of Poems 

is 

Affectionately Inscribed. 



CONTENTS. 





PAGE 


Introduction, ..... 


13 


Nature's School, .... 


17 


Ye Sons of Toil 


19 


Knowledge, . 


21 


Wouldst Thou Some Trophy Raise, 


22 


Ivittle Things 


24 


My Mother, 


25 


Unity of God and Man, 


26 


I'm Growing- Old, .... 


27 


One Cold March Day, 


29 


Twenty-two, ..... 


31 


Rowing- Down to Sea. 


32 


Winnie and Mother, .... 


33 


Bessie and John are Courting. 


36 


A Cottage, 


37 


Strange Mystic Thought, 


38 


Egotism, ...... 


40 


Reminiscences, ..... 


41 



CONTENTS. 





PAGE 


A Vision of L,ife. .... 


46 


If I am Old 


53 


Do They Wish I Was There ? . 


54 


Inhumanity, 


56 


I'm Gping to the War, Mother. 


57 


God Grant 


58 


If You Could Be, .... 


59 


Povert) r , ...... 


(.1 


Not Born to Chance. .... 


62 


Not Made in Vain 


G4 


The Night, 


(>S 


It Is Nobody's Fault That I Know. 


66 


Go Write Your Name. 


69 


Expectation, ..... 


71 


Love 


72 


( ) Where's the Heart. 


73 


A Castaway 


74 


God's Blissful Summer. 


76 


A May Ride, . . . . . 


77 


Brave Old Boys of Forty-one, . 


70 


The Fated Wish, . 


81 


How She Done It 


83 


Believe Not This, . 


85 


Man's Achievements. . 


85 



CONTENTS. 



Learn to Live, 

If Sorrows, .... 

"Moving- Up the Stairs," 

The Hidden Rock, 

My Celestial Dreani, . 

The Plowman's Toil, 

Art 

Wouldst Thou ? . 

She'll Come Back Some Day, 

Wilt Thou Again Then Turn to Me ? 

Come Holy Thought. 

Old Age, 

The Adirondack Brook. 

The Stolen Kiss, 

Stand by Right, 

How Blest It Is to Be. 

The Joys of the Morning. 

The Wisdom of Nature. 

Lodore, 

The Bluebird. 

Truth. 

Two-Pacedness, 

The New Year's Meeting, 

All You Can, 



PAGE 

87 

87 

88 

89 

93 

l >4 

96 

101 

102 

104 

105 

106 

107 

108 

108 

109 

llo 

112 

113 

116 

119 

120 

122 

123 



10 



CONTENTS. 



The Pathway of Success. 

Man His Own Creator, 

The Colored Hero. 

Not That Which Might Have Been 

That Cruel Word. 

Little Sphinxes, 

The Flower Gathered by Me Was L 

The Uncertainty of Life, . 

Life Hid in the Summer Show'r. 

Upon the Sand, 

He Was His Mother's Joy. 

In the Hush When Nightfall Sitteth 

The Immutability of Love, 

Fruits of Greed, 

Our Baby, 

Jean Freeda 

The Tyranny of Habit, 

Lines Written, .... 

The Idler 

I Will 

On Burning a Manuscript, 
I Do Not Know, 
Envy, . . ■ . 

May the Sweetest Roses Twine, 



PAGE 

125 
126 
127 
133 
135 
136 
138 
140 
140 
141 
143 
144 
146 
149 
ISO 
151 
157 
158 
159 
160 
161 
162 
164 
165 



CONTENTS. 



11 





PAGE 


The Swallow and the Grouse, 


167 


Faith, 


168 


The Instability of Time, . 


170 


Meditation, 


171 


Iyittle Song-ster, .... 


173 


An Ode to the Spirit of Poesy, 


174 


All I know, 


176 


Julian, ...... 


180 


Joys and Tears, .... 


190 


The Old Church, . . 


191 


Shioc River, ...... 


193 


Immortality, ...... 


196 


Sunlight and Shadows, . 


198 


Chaos Sometimes, . 


200 



INTRODUCTION. 



It gives me pleasure to write an introductory 
word to this little book of poems, because they 
are the simple outflowing of a soul in verse that 
loves man and nature. 

I feared the author's true modesty would not 
allow the verse thoughts to come to light, which 
were written in piece-meal hours for his own 
pastime and pleasure : and I am pleased that 
his friends have persuaded him to yield to their 
wishes, inasmuch as these verses contain the 
simple helpful truths of daily life — and the 
truth must always live. The poet who writes 
for his own pleasure, writes because he cannot 
help it. just as the bird sing's because the song- 
is in her — and such is only true poetry that sin- 
cerely voices the quiet spirit of nature, which is 
the spirit of truth, which is the spirit of the 
Divine Artist. 

Poets, "who hide with ornaments their want 
of art," help us less than those of the class of 
Robbie Burns and James Whitcomb Riley. 

It is easy to understand why the world will 
continue to read such life like poems as "The 
Mouse's Nest," "The Two Dogs," "The High- 
land L,addie," and "When the Frost is on the 



14 INTRODUCTION. 



Pum'kin," or "The Old Man and Jim." 
Though we are fast becoming a nation of cities. 
still two-thirds of our population live 3'et in the 
country ; and the city third are pleased to ape 
rustic scenes and articles, or revel in vacations 
through barn yards and fields. 

In this volume we g r et not only rustic poems 
but the poems of a rustic —a man who in poverty 
of self-esteem calls himself " An illiterate man. 
engaged in active business life from boyhood. 
not knowing or caring to take care of his oppor- 
tunities." 

I need not sketch biography, for the inner 
man. which is the true man. will be found in 
these verses. A real poem must always be first 
experienced before it can be written ; and he 
who lives most constantly in nature ought to 
voice most faithfully her spirit. 

"Oh ! blessed lie the mind that rules 
O'er nature's wise and wond'rous school." 

Through a long- life the author has given 
himself, not to literary pursuits (as we wish lie 
might have done) but to continuous and busy 
country activities, writing by snatches little 
sample bursts of verse that would, if allowed. 
have come forth more copiously. As he says : 

•" Though these lines are but a rustic son<j 
Inwove with griefs we all must bear. 
Yet toilers earn a brighter crown 
Than idle hands or heads can wear " 

So walking- up and down God's world he knew 
that it was wonderful and felt vastly more than 
he could tell. Even that: " The world is full 
of poetry, the air is teeming with living- spirits. 



INTRODUCTION. 15 



and the waves dance to the music of its melo- 
dies and sparkle in its brightness. " 

But the reader will find poems, not only of 
nature but of human nature as well — poems, of 
sorrow, of joy, of affection, of sadness, of hope, 
of home, of immortality and of heaven— poems 
that divulg-e their helpful morals in singing- the 
sweet practicalities of life. 

" Strange, little things will firmly bind 
Us, stronger, heart to heart; 
And stranger, too, what little things 
Will drive us far apart. 1 ' 

May these -poems of daily life, as common 
people find it here, draw all their readers 
to love Him better who praised the lilies in 
Galilee across the seas; and put us all more 
constantly in mind of the "little things," not 
only that bind us as brother-sojourners more 
"firmly together," but that too often drive 
hearts so cruelly "apart." And so shall their 
mission have not only my benediction, but the 
tender blessing of many friends. 

R. H. Pooi.kv. 



NATURE'S 5CHOOL. 



Ah! blessed be the mind that rules 
O'er nature's wise and wondrous schools: 
Hid in their solitudes away 
Alone I find a perfect day. 
O, may their charms delight my sense, 
My ears but hear their eloquence, 
My heart feast on their living- food, 
My soul learn of their brotherhood. 



POEMS. 



YE 50NS OF TOIL. 



To you, unknown, my friends, I write 
These offering-s of my humble pen, 

Drawn from the pleasures, pains and tears 
That bind me to my fellow men. 

To him who spends an idle hour 
In running* o'er these simple lines, 

My latest wish he'll wisely seek, 
For purer g*old in deeper mines. 

And for the time, perchance misspent, 
Excuse the faults he'll often find, 

If in the leisure moments spent 

He's gained no wealth of heart nor 
mind. 



20 POEMS. 



Even if this he should disprove, 
To while a moment thus away 

From art and genius wisely choose, 
It will with pleasure time repay. 

Tho' these are but a rustic's song's, 
Inwove with griefs we all must bear, 

Yet toilers earn a brighter crown 
Than idle hands or heads can wear. 

If life's unstable drifting stream 

Has fill'd your burning heart with pain, 

Still bravely breast the storms of time, 
They yet will bring you priceless gain. 

Accept the burdens that you bear 
As partly from your own decree. 

And join me in the toiler's song, 
With thanks for life and libertv. 




POEMS. 



KNOWLEDGE. 



O Knowledge, from thy quenchless 
spring-s, 

I'd gladly slake my thirst, 
And deem all else as worthless things, 

To share thy treasures first. 

Then midnight would as noon appear. 

The darkest skies be bright, 
If I could grasp thy wonders here, 

And revel in thy light. 

'T would change the oft-recurring fears 
That line my earthward shore, 

While drifting down the weary years 
Still languishing for more. 

As yonder sun with piercing blaze 

Excels the lamps of night, 
The wisdom of thy living rays 

Would, too, enlarge my sight. 

It would a nameless joy impart 

To my untutored mind, 
And leave my poor and burden'd heart 

With truth and hope enshrined. 



22 POEMS. 



WOULDST THOU 50HE TROPHY RAISE. 



Wouldst thou some trophy gladly raise. 
Endeared by love to human hearts, 

That it may justly share the praise 
Of worth in its perfected parts ? 

Some message held within its shrine, 
Unmark'd by passion, vice or shame, 

That 's link'd so firmly here with thine 
You '11 point with pleasure to the same? 

With this one ehaplet on its crest, 

'T was here his footsteps used to tend. 

So warmed with friendship was his breast 
He still remains our truest friend. 

Some thought bless'd with fair virtue's 
smile, 

That hope and gladness love to bless, 
Whose mem'ry often turns the while 

Robed with affection's sweetest dress. 

Some theme so wrapt with inborn power, 
Caught from the glow of wisdom's ken, 

If drawn, 't is from the humblest flower, 
'T will be endeared to hearts of men. 



POEMS. 23 



No crumbling- structure marble wrought; 

Some message winged by heav'nly dove, 
Born of a pure and holy thought, 

Embalmed with friendship, truth and 
love. 

If at this wish you'll feign a smile, 
My heart will still remain unpained, 

Or if 't is mixed with scorn or guile, 
'T will leave the wish as now un- 
changed. 

I pray this bond you'll gladly form, 
To bind all human hearts in one, 

With no dark errors to deform, 

Nor deeds of truth and love undone. 

If it be folly, my desire, 

Ignite, O Lord, with sacred flame 
The message that I would inspire, 

Endear'd to love and hope the same. 




24 POEMS. 



LITTLE THINGS. 



What little thing's in human life 

Add to its weal or woe, 
How often will an unkind look 

Soon cause the tears to flow ! 

Strang-e, little thing's will firmly bind 
Us strong-er, heart to heart ; 

And strang-er, too, what little thing's 
Will drive us far apart. 

Then treasure up the little thing's, 
They will with g*old repay ; 

'T will add so much to all your joys 
In sunshine day by day. 

Remember, oft in little thing's 
The greatest g-ood is found ; 

Far nobler than the greater ones, 
That may your life surround. 

Yes, treasure up these little things, 
V T will mould your hearts in one, 

And never leave an unkind thought 
Or deed you'd wish undone. 



POEMS. 25 



riY HOTHER. 



Please, poor heart, now stop thy beating-, 
Dry the tears my eyes are weeping-, 
Something-'s pressing- on my temple, 
Something- softly, sweetly g-entle, 
With a loving- voiceless presence, 
Something- soothing-, holy essence, 
All around me seems to hover, — 
It 's the spirit of my mother. 

Hush my heart now all thy grieving-, 

Nevermore thyself deceiving, 

'T is the winds my lintel crossing:, 

Lightly now my locks are tossing-. 

No, I feel her spirit's fing-er 

On my cheeks now g-ently ling-er, 

And I know, if 'neath night's cover, 

It 's the presence of my mother. 

Let my eyes now stop their weeping-, 
I am in an ang-el's keeping-. 
Let the fates no more dissemble, 
Tho' I share in pain, and tremble. 
Whispered voices now Fm hearing-, 
Loving- eyes throug-h darkness peering- 
With the sweetest, softest quaver, 
Speaks her spirit louder, braver. 



26 POEMS. 



Mother lead me, lead me kindly, 
Though I wander from thee blindly, 
'T is thy holy love I'm breathing 
Through the woof of life I'm weaving. 
For some unseen, subtle essence 
Always bring-s thee to my presence, 
And I know thou art as ever 
Still my mother, my own mother. 



UNITY OF GOD AND MAN. 



My grandest theme, my wisest thought, 
That man by nature is divine, 

Tho' cast in slums of darkest lot 

Where scarce a ray from God may 
shine. 

To mortal eyes — I should have said — 
For 'neath the veil of circumstance 

The light will there its brilliance shed, 
If partly hid its heav'nly glance. 

All hearts alike have one desire, 

Have joys and more perchance of pain, 

Have hopes that may each heart inspire, 
And bind with love's immortal chain. 



POEMS. 



'M GROWING OLD. 



I can't see plainly, Mercy, 

D'ye think I'm growing- old ? 
I sometimes feel so weary, 

Just as you've often told. 
I used to think you nervous, 

I felt so well and strong- ; 
Now ag-e comes creeping- o'er us 

I know that I was wrong. 

How strang-e to me it seemeth, 

These lines I scarce can trace, 
And then the lig-ht revealeth 

The wrinkles on my face. 
I am so dull and clumsy, 

My limbs grow stiff and cold, 
And just as you have told me — 

I know I'm growing- old. 

And do you think now, Mercy, 

My heart has felt the chill, 
Or time has broken mutelv 

My memory and will, 
And blig-hted the affections 

That gave us once such joy?— 
If so, you are mistaken ; 

Time cannot love destroy. 



28 POEMS. 



Remembrest now our childhood, 

When we were both so young-, 
And later in your g-irlhood. 

The song-s of joy we sung- ? 
And now it g-ives me pleasure 

More precious far than g-old, 
Remembered now as treasures,— 

If I am growing- old. 

Say, do you think I Ve broken 

The vows I freely g-ave, 
And that my heart is frozen, 

Or will this side the grave. 
And that I have forg-otten 

That early plig-hted vow, 
Or that my love is shaken 

Tho' winter 's on me now ? 

And say do you now, Mercy, 

Live o'er those days ag-aiu, 
And recollected kindly, 

As they were always then ? 
If so, do you remember, 

I can't tell now the time, 
'T was some time in the winter. 

While I was in my prime, — 

The winds without moaned hoarsely 
Their melancholy sig-hs, 



POEMS. 29 



You nestled to me closely, 

While tears were in your eyes, 

And said, Will ever winter 
Come to your heart and mine, 

And storms here ever g-ather 
To blast life's summer time ? 

Life's summer now is broken, 

And deep the winter snow, 
Yet when your name is spoken 

My heart is all aglow ; 
And if you should discover 

That it is getting- cold, 
I wish you would remember 

That I am getting old. 



ONE COLD HARCH DAY. 



The March winds blew a bitter wail ; 

The storm beat hard with rain and hail, 

As I sat glum in moody way, 

Beside the lire to thought a prey : 

The hay nigh gone, and ricks were bare, 

To add to all my seeming care, 

As thus I humm'd an old-time tune. 

And in my heart wished it was June. 



30 POEMS. 



The times were hard and wages high. 
And every thing- I had to buy, 
For pork and beef so low had fell 
No profit now for me to sell. 
The times were never so before, 
The wolf was just without the door, 
And of the mites I'd laid away. 
If spent I knew we'd rue the day. 
I hummed away an old-time song, 
Wond'ring how we'd get along-. 

The ashes up the grate still flew ; 
How long I sat I never knew, 
On that March day so cold and g-lum, 
And wished, I fear, for king-dom come. 
My wife came in and sat rig-ht down, 
And smiling- at my coldest frown, 
Said with her face so full of cheer, 
Dear boy, the summer '11 soon be here ; 
Why count the loss you never met, 
And o'er what is unwisely fret ? 

The g-ood we have will balance sure ; 
The ills you fear we may endure. 
Look out upon your lands and farm, 
There is no cause for fear of harm ; 
You 've bonds, you know, that mig-ht be 

sold. 
And cattle, too, to bring you gold : 



POEMS. 31 



Then sung" to me an bld-lov'd song-, 
As planning- how we 'd g-et along - , 
Said with a kiss and many a laug-h, 
A cheerful heart is more than half. 



TWENTY=TWO. 



A bright eyed, sprig-htly happy maid 
Stood in her cottage door ; 

Hear what the damsel smiling- said, 
For she was twelve or more. 

And this, my friend, I know is true, 

She wished that she was twent}'-two. 



Ag-ain in time I went that wa 



-^ 



And saw her as before, 
Her eyes brimful of g-irlish play 

As she stood in the door ; 
And with her smiles so sweet and true, 
She laug-hing-. said, I'm twenty-two. 

In after time I chanced that way, 

And she was in the door, 
An old maid now, the neig-hbors say. 

Of thirty-five or more ; 
And as she said, Sir, how d'ye do ? 
She wished that she was twenty-two. 



32 POEMS. 



ROWING DOWN TO SEA. 



Now the midnight stars are shining" 

O'er me rowing- down to sea. 
And the roar of rocking- billows 

Echoes from the shore to me. 

Onward, onward I am rowing-, 
Rowing-, rowing- down to sea ; 

To the unknown shore I'm going ; 
'Yond the harbor I can see. 

With the angry waves now dashing 
'Gainst my trembling-, beating craft, 

And the mystic haven yonder 
Does its shadows dimly cast. 

Onward, onward still I'm rowing, 
Outward drifting down to sea. 

And the polar star is glowing, 
Glowing brightly now for me. 

To the cross I'm safely anchored, 

Tho' the shores fade from my sight ; 
Christ is by the harbor standing 

Through the starlit hours of night. 
And I'm onward, onward rowing, 

Rowing, rowing down to sea, 
For the polar star is glowing, 
Glowing brightly now for me. 



POEMS. 33 



WINNIE AND HOTHER. 



Remembrance still treasures the home of 
my childhood, 
The cottag-e now stands 'mong-st the 
roses and bloom, 
Its hills and its rocks and its green man- 
tled wildwo£>d, 
And up in the corner my old attic room. 

The moon that was then there so leisure- 
ly drifting-, 
Or hung- on the star spang-led walls of 
the nig-ht, 
Now onward I see with its glory is shift- 
ing", 
Eifulg-ent with beauty in oceans of 

light. 

The twilig-ht that was to my infancy 
g-olden, 
Fling-s back in my dreaming-s its brig-ht 
lucent rays, 
And mother and Winnie, with pleasures 
grown olden, 
Come now in my manhood to gladden 
my days. 



34 POEMS. 

When mother was weary, with shuttle 
still plying - , 
To keep us from want, little Winnie 
and me, 
Yet smiling- so sweetly where Winnie was 
lying-, 
Throug-h tears falling- freely in mem'ry 
I see. 

How glad our enjoyments when toiling- 
was over, 
And cares of the day were forgotten or 
done ; 
With flowers then gathered for Winnie 
and mother, 
That grew by the way where the old 
meadow run. 

happy the days when with Winnie and 
Rover 
Our laughter rung down from the hills 
and the lea, 
While driving old Brindle back home 
from the clover, 
Still dear to my heart and are sacred 
to me. 

May long live their shades with their 
brig-lit retrospection, 
The bloom and the roses their hands 
loved to train. 



POEMvS. 35 



Endeared to my heart by the fond recol- 
lections 
Of leaf-tang-led bowers by wayside and 
lane. 

O blessed the days when the shuttle was 
plying-, 
As mother turned fondly to Winnie and 
me, 
When kisses and smiles drove away all 
her si«j-hin<>- 
With laug-hter that rung- down the hills 



to the lea. 




36 POEMS. 



BESSIE AND JOHN ARE COURTING. 



Full four score years have Hung- their 
shade 

Across the lintel of their door. 
Many a line there time has made 

Worn deeply in its shrivel'd floor. 

Their lives have run with g-entle stream 

By many a rugged heather. 
Yet love has wove its sweetest dream 

Round Bessie and John tog-ether. 

If now his face has paler hue. 

Wreathed with its locks of silver grey, 
Yet roses still, if not so new. 

Are playing- round his lips, like May. 

If Bessie's brow is sprav'd with snow. 

It is with riper love aflame ; 
If it has lost its golden giow, 

It keeps its winsome glance the same. 



Her face at his looks lovingly, 

As standing- by her low arm chair, 

While he looks down so smilingly 
At wrinkles that are fading - there. 



POEMS. 



He fondly clasps her hands in his, 

With eves of love, love loves to meet ; 

In joy alone, the joy that is 

When soul meets soul in converse sweet. 

His hands upon her aged brow, 

As back and forth she smiling- rocks, 

He whispers down some ancient vow, 
As sporting- with her slender locks. 



A COTTAGE. 



A cottage built with graceful art, 
Unbless'd with love within its door, 

Where sorrow binds each famished heart, 
And cries with lisping- breath for more. 

Each face bespeaks an untold woe, 
Reflex with grief and wild despair, 

With no brig-ht beams of love to giow 
Upon the hardened features there. 

Yet here with less pretentious show, 
And want imprint upon its stile, 

I see each patient face I know 
Is circled with a holy smile. 



38 POEMS. 



STRANGE MYSTIC THOUGHT. 



Go back strange mystic sprite, too deep 
for me. 
With eves and heart heavy with many 
cares. 
You whisper peace and happiness as free, 
And life as wheat is largely mix'd with 
tares. 

You kiss my cheek, as of some playful 
child, 
Then turning- leave me sobbing at your 
feet, 
As one from native land and home be- 
guil'd, 
Or waken'd rudely from his slumbers 
sweet. 

Then smiling doubtful you withdraw 
your touch, 
Intended seemingly my life to bless, 
And leave the fear that life is burden'd 
much 
With hopes and joys and tears and 
wretchedness. 



poems. 39 



When lo ! again returning- swift you come, 
As if to save some leaf wind reft and 
lost, 
Torn roughly from its mother branch and 
home, 
And now on shoreless seas by billows 
toss'd. 

As you flit by me, past beyond my reach, 
And mock me with the proffer of a kiss, 
Th<V if deep pain'd my heart will still be- 
seech 
, That unintended offer to my bliss. 

Life, like some fair field, oft appears in 
bloom, 
Yet 'neath its flow'rs the pointed thorns 
are laid, 
Inwove with tang-led twig's in thick'ning- 
gdoom, 
At which the human heart is oft dis- 
mayed. 

Suspended o'er me swinging- to and fro, 
An oriole tireless sing-s her cheerful 
song- ; 
My heart responsive eag-er yearns to know 
The sources of her joys the whole day 
long-. 



40 POEMS. 



Her's is contentment without wish for 
more, 

A heav'nly thought true benison to me, 
That may all my rent links of life restore, 

And leave me as the bird above me free. 



EGOTISM. 



He cram'd me, for he'd over much 
Religion, philosophy and law, — 

Yet this with all the aftermath, 
Has left me with an empty maw. 



POEMS. 41 



REMINISCENCES. 



To-night the passing- dirge of parting 

years 
Is gladdened by the mem'ry of the past, 
As through the hazy mist of drifting tears, 
I gaze upon the shadows that they cast. 

And there the house with boarded gables 
steep, 
Stands just the same as in the olden 
times, 
And here the room in which I used to 
sleep, 
And up the casement still the ivy climbs. 

My sisters waiting with their lovelit eves, 
As when we chased the birdlings to 
their nest, 
Or saw the stars look down from azure 
skies 
Upon the porch where we sat down to 
rest. 

My father's voice now calls me by my 
name, 
And tearful there I gaze with vacant 
stare : 



42 P< )EMS. 



And hark : my mother standing - too the 
same, 
While I peer through the g-ath'ring 
darkness there. 

Down in the brook the water lilies bloom, 
Along- the way the fragrant meadow 
lies, 

While o'er the hills I see the rising- moon, 
Above me in the same familiar skies. 

I hear the rain upon the roofing- fall, 
And see the yellow fields of ripened 
corn, 
Or g-ather flowers along the meadow wall, 
Till summon'd by the welcome dinner- 
horn. 

The sea-g-ull wandYing from the foam- 
ing- surf, 
Now frig-htened homeward seeks the 
rolling surg-e, 
White flocks are feeding- on the meadow 
turf, 
And echo answers back the hollow 
dirg-e. 

Beside the g-ate the elm and ash still 
stand, 
And by the wall I see the rustic swing-, 



POEMS. 4:, 



Behind the house the fields and pasture 
land, 
And from the ledge the gurgling" waters 
spring". 

Out from deep rows of tow'ring- aspen trees 
The ancient clock still marks the flight 
of time, 
And from the steeple on the vesper 
breeze 
The ringing- bell chants out its even- 
ing- chime. 

The school-house rising- from the deepen- 
ing- mist, 
Still flanks the roadway by the village 
spring-, 
But, now each face and welcome smile is 
miss'd, 
T< > which remembrances so fondly cling-. 

Near by the pike there runs the moun- 
tain stream, 
And here the orchard with its fragrant 
bloom, 
Looks westward in the sunset's sinking 
beam, 
Which marks its bound'ry in the fall- 
ing- gloom. 



44 POEMS. 



Once more I tread the oft accustomed 
nooks. 
Where rambling in my early youth I 
sought 
'Neath maple shades and warbling- of the 
brooks, 
Contentment that their whispered music 
taught. 

The grave-yard there. I can distinctly 
trace 
Where friends have slept long through 
the passing years. 
Mingling with dust within their resting 
place. 
For whom fond mem'ry drops again its 
tears. 

Hush! () hush, the mournful thought 
that chills 
And drowns my heart with half suspi- 
cion Yl gloom; 
See. yonder there, the Adirondack hills 
Bathed with their beauty in the sum- 
mer bloom! 

And there the groups of happy laughing 
boys, 
As playful forth they rush across the 
green, 



POEMS. 



45 



And hear my heart now beat with boy- 
hood's joys, 
As once it beat in early childhood's 
scene. 

Yes, hark! you'll hear their shouts with 
louder peal 
Above the din of school-bell, pealing- 
clear, — 
Away with griefs but human hearts may 
feel 
Midst scenes of joy so full of hope and 
cheer ! 



^^1 



%& 



46 POEMS. 



A VISION OF LIFE. 



Scarcely conscious I am musing-, 

Musing* with my thoughts unspoken, 

From a thousand fancies choosing-, 
With the silence all unbroken,— 
Save the thrumming 

An old tune that I was humming-. 

There was something then foretelling: 
Of some strang-e and staid conclusion. 

That surrounded my lone dwelling-, 
With a weird and wild confusion, 
All illusion. 

Yet it aided the delusion. 

God of fate or chance, what purpose 
Hast thou for me in this vision ? 

What wouldst thou by this foretell us. 
Thus appealing with my reason ? 
In the silence 

Answered back: 4t 'Tis self reliance !" 

Hast thou soul with subtle essence 
Speaking through some admonition, 

Come to curse or bless my presence 
In this fleeting- apparition ? 

Give thy mission, 

Tell from whom thou hast commission. 



POEMS. 47 



"Art of earth," I asked, kk or heaven?" 
Still no voice to me gave answer, 

But a whisper faintly given, 
Moving- me well nigh to anger, 
In the silence 

Murmured back : kk 'T is self reliance/' 

Striving more then with my reason, 

To explain this apparition, 
For my heart was rank with treason 

'Gainst the vagueness of its mission, 
Void of gladness 
Clothed within and out with sadness. 

Asked again if man or woman, 

But no word would it then answer ; 

Hast thou flesh or heart that's human 
Come to burn my heart, thou cancer ? 
In the silence 

Then it whispered back defiance. 

Tempt no more thou wanton dervis, 
Hide thy face from me forever ; 

As if worn by ancient service 

Came the voice of fate's dispenser : — 
kk No, no never 

Will this vision leave thee ever !" 

Oh thou fitful tempting spirit, 

Thou shalt be no more my master, 



48 POEMS. 



I thy mission will not hear it, 

'Way thou demon craven monster. 
It in silence 
Beckon'd back to me deliance! 

Ringing-, ever tolling-, knelling 

With a potency that ever, 
Ever since seems sadly telling 

What my musings can't discover, 
If 'twere treason 
To entangle it with reason. 

In the tempest 'round me whirling, 
With the flame but dimly burning, 

Till the myth broke out and curling 
Upward through the funnel turning 
Left hope only 

In my heart so sad and lonely. 

From the fancies I was building 
In the silence lone and restless, 

Rose the forms that hope was gilding". 
Forms of love and life all deathless. 
( )ut of season. 

But so oddly with my reason. 

For the winds without seem'd telling 
Of some dark and dread disaster, 

And my heart kept ever swelling 
In the darkness swifter, faster. 



POEMS. 4p 



Still dissembling- 
As I sat alone and trembling-. 

In the spell my soul then binding 
Mid the darkness of life's summer; 

Throug-h a landscape slowly winding- 
Rang- a river's wildest murmur, 
Full of sweetness 

Throug-h my fancies run with fleetness. 

Then, as if 'twas interlinking- 
All my soul's best aspiration, 

Till ag-ain from vision sinking- 
Into fancied desolation, 

In its blankness, 

Left my life so sad and thankless. 

Sacred to my heart's own keeping- 
Came anew this vision spoken, 

Dream of love and life so fleeting, 
That its spell was never broken, 
In my drifting-, 

Down life's stream forever shifting-. 

I can still that nig-ht remember 
When I saw their faces beaming 

In the stillness of my chamber, 
'Bove the fender in my dreaming ; 
I remember 

Home was painted by the ember. 



50 POEMS. 



In the fire light dimly flowing - , 
Sitting- by the embers dying-, 

And my heart with rapture glowing", 
In its dream of life there lying, 
Only knowing 

How my dream of life was flowing. 

In my fancies while thus gazing, 

Rose a home with wife and children. 

Plainly 'bove the cinders blazing ; 

Ne'er was home so sweet as this then, 
This one lying 

On the flick'ring embers dying. 

From the mist then round me creeping 
Rose the infant child to girlhood; 

In the whirl around me sweeping 

Rose the child from boy to manhood. 
For my keeping, 

In the whirl around me sweeping. 

Through the purple shade unfolding. 

For it seem'd so plain and certain. 
Clearly was my soul beholding 

'Neath night's dark and sable curtain, 
What was lying 
O'er the forms that I was eying. 

Full of love's best charms entrancing, 
From the embers faintly gleaming, 



POEMS. 51 

With its subtle spell enhancing, 
Clearly each one to my seeming-, 
Both hands clasping 
With love's fond embrace was grasping-. 

Thine, O God, the mind that traces 
Throug-h the labyrinth of my soul; 

Thine the light that doubt defaces, 
All the dread of fate's control. 
Ever giving 

Generous gifts unto the living-. 

O thou sacred holy vision, 

Keep me throug-h the lasting- ag-es ; 
Sanctify thy whisper'd mission 

On my life's unwritten pages, 
Throug-h the ag-es 
Of my life's unfolding stages. 

Hope and fear my soul then rending, 

For stern fate my dream was ending, 
As one white with age was bending, 
While her tears with mine were blend- 
ing, 

I too bending, 

For rny dream of life was ending. 

Then beside my pallet kneeling, 

Sad of heart and spirit broken ; 
To the source of life appealing, 



52 POEMS. 



Came this answer plainly spoken 
Through the silence : 
"On thy God cast thou reliance." 

From the dim, pale flame then dying, 
Home crept slowly from the picture, 

Gently from the embers flying-, 
Silent fled then face and fixture 
That were lying 

Where my dream of life was dying. 

Thus again all fear dismissing, 
In my new life's gladness waking, 

All the past not even missing, 

From the darkness quickly breaking, 
Fates defying 

Left my dream immortal lying. 

Live, () dream, still unforgotten. 
Live forever, live here lying, 

In my soul's first hopes begotten. 
Live to-day, live on undying. 
Now here lying, 

Live forever, time defying. 

Lips of love forever speaking, 

Souls no more with eyes for weeping. 

Full of joy new joys still seeking, 
Ever blest in God's own keeping ; 
No more weeping — 

Living on in God's own keeping. 



POEMS. 



IF I AM OLD. 

Like leaves torn by the winds away, 
A wither'd, bent and broken stalk. 

As twilight marks the closing- day, 
I faint and weary onward walk 

To yonder shore with rims of gold, 

Where now I'm loved if I am old. 

O, lead me by the narrow wav, 

For there the shore is plain to see; 

If haze like shadows round it play, 
There's some one there awaiting- me. 

Its shores are rim'd with green and gold. 

And I am loved if I am old. 

Place your hands on my aching brow, 
For just beyond me lies the shore ; 

O there ! I see it brightly now, 
Pray bear me up a moment more. 

The way is rim'd with green and gold, 

And some one loves me if I'm old. 

O, wait beside the wayside, please, 
My eyes, I find, are growing dim ; 

For damp and chill the rising- breeze- - 
Please, will you call aloud to him? 

For I can see the green and gold, 

And he is waiting if I'm old. 



54 POEMS. 



Yes, lay me on the banks awhile, 
As pillow'd on its moss I sleep ; 

Give me a kiss and parting- smile, 
To cheer me o'er the gloaming- deep, 

Where we shall meet midst green and 
gold, 

He still loves me if I am old. 



DO THEY WISH I WAS THERE? 



O could I but know in their mirth and 

their glee, 
That hearts are now beating with mem'- 

ries of mo ; 
One moment in silence they'll hush all 

their joys. 
And whisper : "If he was now with us 

here boys !" 
And then when they break in festivity's 

song, 
'Twill waken with rapture and echo there 

long;; 
The night gloom and sadness that sor- 
rows impart 
Will flee with its mem'ries away from my 

heart. 



POEMS. 



So tenderly linked seems each heart now 

with mine, 
As ties of old friendship around me 

entwine ; 
Yet what would I not in my life now forego 
For pleasure I'd feel if I knew it was so. 
The gladness old mem'ries now brings me 

again, 
Has lighten'd life's burdens and lessen'd 

its pain ; 
And I for one moment now feel that they 

share 
My feelings of gladness and wish I was 

there. 

My dream of enchantment is sweeter to- 
night 

For mem'ries it wakens, its darkness and 
light ; 

Defiant of fate it brings back my old. 
friends, 

Altho' like a fever, it flushes, then ends. 

My burdens will ever seem lighter to me, 

Once more in my visions to join in their 
glee, 

And briefly one moment believe that they 
share 

The thought that now cheers me, and 
wish I was there. 



56 POEMS. 



INHUMANITY. 



Oh, would I had. the thought repress'd 
Which yielded to her smile, 

As folded on my heaving- breast, 
Concealing- all its guile. 

Oh, would her half reproving sigh 

Had less my passion fed, 
And tho' reluctant fled the cry 

That chained me to the dead. 

The mem'ry of her pleading gaze, 

Her deep remorseful pain, 
Now sets the latent flame ablaze 

That's burning in my brain. 

The lips that spoke the parting tie, 

And full forgiveness gave, 
Will in my heart depth never die, 

Nor less repentance crave. 

Why should my tortured heart e'er feel 

Its old remember'd pain, 
That no forgiving look can heal, 

Nor deep repentance gain ? 



POEMS. 



Remembrance still shall hold as dear 

The debt I would repay, 
And silent drop to her a tear 

Whom once I did betray. 



I'M GOING TO THE WAR, MOTHER. 



I'm going- to the war, mother, 
The battles have now begun, 

I'll be -thinking- of you, mother, 

When you look at the morning- sun, 

I know father, and you, mother, 
Will sit by the garden wall 

And worry about your boy, mother, 
Who may in the battle fall. 

Yet you must remember, mother, 
How dear was our freedom won ; 

Your father fell on the field, mother, 
At the battle of Bennington. 

Come wipe away your tears, mother, 
The God of our fathers 1 trust ; 

And if I ne'er come home, mother, 
I shall die as true soldiers must. 



38 POEMS. 



When you sit here lonely, mother. 
While weeping- for your son, 

Be sure I'll be thinking- of you, mother. 
If you see the morning- sun. 

And if God so wills it, mother, 
When His cause ag-ain has won, 

You'll be proud that I fell, mother, 
Like your father at Benningfton. 



GOD GRANT. 



God grant that love with speedy train 
May bring- its sacred treasures here, 

'Till every soul is free'd from pain, 
And dried each burning, falling, tear. 

May noon-day beams of joy arise 
And all our heart.-aches disappear, 

As every human grief it dries 

With love to bless its suff'ring- here. 

May passion's stormy warfare cease 
'Till every heart and home is free. 

Crowned with the holy crown of peace, 
That falls unmeasured, Lord, from 
Thee. 



POEMS. 



IF YOU COULD BE. 



If you could be, what would you be ? 

I wait your answer, come ; 
It still recurs again to me, 

And still your tong-ue is dumb. 

If you could be as others are, 

Which one here would you choose, 

If you could all their treasures share, 
What g-ood would it then prove ? 

If you could see as others see, 

With seeming- eyes divine, 
And in their sig-hts could revel free, 

Which one would then be thine ? 

If you could weep as others weep, 
With pleasure, grief and pain, 

Would nig-ht be bless'd with sweeter sleep, 
Or life with greater g*ain ? 

If you could rule where others reign, 

With self pretentious powY ; 
And grasp the blissful cup of fame, 

You mig-ht then curse the hour. 

If you could think as others think, 
And wisdom's temples rove, 



60 POEMS. 



Could you from all her fountains drink, 
In her Elysian grove ? 

If here your soul, without control. 
Could on the wings of thought, 

Fly through the world from pole to pole 
Would this add to your lot ? 

If you could close your eyes to shame. 

With selfishness and greed ; 
Would there be more of life to claim 

Than now, that you would need ? 

If you could stand where others stand, 

And view the world below ; 
Would there be still a better land 

Of which you'd wish to know ? 

If you could share what others share 

Of love of gold and fame ; 
Would you be bless'd with less of care 

Than with your unknown name? 



^W 



POEMS. 61 



POVERTY. 



Why poverty, the baneful curse, 
To rack the hearts of men, 

And turn the lov'd domestic hearth 
Here to a fiend's den ? 

Why blight the trembling- whiten'd head, 
And chill the heart of youth, 

Then leave it friendless, worse than dead, 
To mock at love and truth ? 

Why should affection fade and die 

With human life so brief, 
And still thy frozen touch defy 

Its agony and grief ? 

Why should its gall and wormwood swell 

Into a wanton stream, 
And with its poisoned deadly spell 

Destroy life's every dream ? 

Oh why should now my heart here burn 

So with a living death ; 
And want stalk round my every turn, 

With its relentless breath ? 

For nature does for all provide, 
Untrammeled with deceit ; 



62 POEMS. 



And with its bounty so supplied, 
Man's every want would meet. 

Yet man, poor foolish miser man. 

Outwills the will of God ; 
To suffer for the crafty plan, 

With his avenging rod. 

While tears like rivers to the sea 
Shall up to God be borne, 

With deeper cries of misery, 
For man wills man to mourn. 



NOT BORN TO CHANCE. 



Say not that man is born to chance, 
A creature here of hapless luck; 

He is the Lord of circumstance — 
The master-mind of will and pluck ; 

Led by an ever distant flame. 

He onward, upward, climbs to fame. 

Charge not the fortune's smiling star, 
The fate that brings to some success ; 

The arm that guides -the golden car. 
No laggard's ease can e'er repress; 



POEMS. 63 



The iron will that leads the van 
Belong-s to the successful man. 

Nor yet that caprice's golden wedge 
Kind fortune does to some bestow ; 

Nor heaven gives, some fav v rite pledge, 
Her chosen children only know ; 

It is to him whose well laid plan, 

Will make a wise, successful man. 

Dream not that pampered sons of gold 
Can here possess the greatest gain ; 

The half fed child we oft behold 
May here a greater wealth obtain ; 

And he that feasts on full desire 

Oft wallows in a pauper's mire. 

On Scotia's lofty, lonely hills 
The tall defiant hemlocks grow, 

Wrapped in the moss that never chills 
In wintry winds, nor drifting snow ; 

Then let no doubts in thee repress 

The hope and grandeur of success. 

True, failures may here sometimes come 
Yet they may prove for thee the best 

They do not make up life's full sum, 
Nor does success bring peace and rest 

And you may see, for see you can, 

That fate makes no successful man. 



64 POEMS. 



NOT MADE IN VAIN. 



Alone at midnight's solemn hour, 
When nature with abated breath, 

Beneath the wan moon's silver show'r, 
Seems sleeping- in the arms of death. 

I hear the beetle beat his gong-, 
Among- the stubbles 1 solitudes, 

And crickets wake with lonesome song-, 
In seeming- sweet beatitudes. 

I tread the old earth's smould'ring- mass, 
Beneath my feet a cooling- crust, 

And wonder that all flesh as grass 
Is slowly turning- back to dust. 

No lig-ht the circling- ag-es bring-, 
As I their records closely scan, 

To tell from whence these masses spring- ; 
Nor, yet the mystery of man. 

No wisdom drawn from countless years 
No fancy of the dreamer's brain, 

Has ever solved our doubts and fears, 
And yet, we were not made in vain. 

This thoug-ht full of inspiring- hope, 
Infused into a living" soul, 



POEMS. 65 



Falls like a beam of Kg- lit that woke, 
To give our footsteps wise control. 

Nature wages no war of strife, 
Its empire is the realm of light, 

Change will evolve a purer life 
As sunshine follows after night. 

From out the unknown deeps I hear 
The echoes of a sweet refrain, 

That rolls along from sphere to sphere, 
God has not made his works in vain. 



THE NIGHT. 



God bless the night, the peaceful night. 

When heart to heart is true, 
As she lights up her lamps of light 

In fields of gold and blue. 

God bless the morn, the glorious morn, 
When man awakes from rest, 

With life and rapture newly born, 
Infusing every breast. 



POEMS. 



IT 15 NOBODY'S FAULT THAT I KNOW. 



I'm poor as a bird in an early spring 
morn, 
That's searching for worms in the damp 
sand and clay ; 
The wonder is why I have ever been born 
To grind out my life with such crumbs 
as I may. 
Yet daily I tind many others just so. 
And it's somebody's fault that I know. 

There is one g-reat elm in the park stand- 
ing- there, 
That hides with its shade all the scrub- 
blinds from view, 

Yet it had the same sun and the same 
balmy air, 
With the same mellow earth where all 
the rest g*rew. 

Anil all throug-h the forest it's ever just so, 

While it's nobody's fault that I know. 

There is one brigdit bird with a rich 
golden plume, 
Another is clothed with a dark muddy 
gray, 



POEMS. 67 



While my lady's face wears a harsh bronzy 

rheum, 
And her servant's cheek has the sweet 

bloom of May. 
Then I ask in my heart, why it should 

be so, 
Yet, it's somebody's fault that I know. 

I'm hungry just now with my heart full 

of pain, 
Yet carry my pack with as greedy an air 
As Shylock, who counts up his millions 

of gain, 
And trudge rig-lit along- by the great 

millionaire ; 
While he, like an eag'le, looks down at 

the crow, 
Yet, it's somebody's fault that I know. 

A great throng- ahead looking- back with 

a frown 
At the poor tired ones that are lag-ging- 

behind, 
And I see from their steps as they gx> 

rushing- down, 
That the flig-ht and the fray has quite 

made them blind. 
And I wond'ring-ly ask why it should be so, 
Yet, it's nobody's fault that I know. 



68 POEMS. 

My neighbor now rides on a bright golden 

horse, 
While I like a dog creep along by his 

side ; 
The same yard of earth bears a rose and 

a gorse, 
The sea brings a pearl and a snail on 

its tide. 
So here on, and on, by the way as I go. 
Yet is it my neighbor's fault, do you 

know ? 

The dangers and suffrings we all have to 

share. 
In toils and in trials we daily go 

through, 
It would lessen the pain that each has to 

bear 
For to learn once for all to guide his 

canoe ; 
While laughingly down, by the way as 

we go, 
For happier hearts we all then should 

know. 



POEMvS. h 9 



GO WRITE YOUR NAME. 



Go write your name upon the age 
In which you chance to live ; 

If here in want your life is pass'd, 
Your noblest efforts give. 

Ne'er count alone the truly great 
Dame Fortune's favored ones ; 

A higher mark you yet may make 
Than will her proudest sons. 

Go toil to reach the topmost round. 

Whatever be your lot ; 
Your manhood is the costly price — 

The price by which r tis bought. 

The greatest heroes here are known, 

As those who toiling- well, 
Amidst the humblest ranks they fought, 

Tho' in that rank they fell. 

Go write your name in kindly deeds, 

Not in red lields of gore ; 
And help your struggling brothers here 

Along life's troubled shore. 



7o POEMS. 



God's truly great, and only those, 
With love and cheer for all, 

Without a care of their estate, 
Nor how nor where they fall. 

Go toil for virtue, truth, and right, 

In danger's darkest hour ; 
Nor make thyself a hopeless slave 

To vile temptation's power. 

Go write vour name with faith and hope, 

In simple deeds of love ; 
Ang-els will on the records smile, 

From their hig-h realms above. 

Go shun their sinking- crafts of pride, 
With envy's trappings hung ; 

For often heartless promises 
Have trusting - victims stung. 

One priceless deed of love performed 
Outweighs a monarch's crown, 

Altho' a sordid world may cast 
On thee its darkest frown. 

Go strive with all your g-iven pow'r 
Of faith and hope and love, 

And on thy pathway brig-fit shall shine 
God's sunshine from above. 



POEMS. 



Let truth sincere be here thy rule, 

Care for thy fellow men ; 
Then when this earthly life shall close. 

'Twill breathe a sweet amen. 



EXPECTATION. 



Why mock me with thy ceaseless wooing-, 
Tho' I am seeking- thee forever, 

Yet from me my whole life still going-, 
Just out beyond my reach as ever ? 

And then throw back thy fond caress 

Knowing- I cannot love thee less. 

Why is thy soul-lit rapture seeming-, 
Like sunshine lifting- nig-ht's dark 
cover ? 
Why does thy voice with unknown mean- 
ing- 
Whisper of joys I can't discover? 
Then fling- me back but nothingness 
Knowing- I cannot love thee less. 



POEMS. 



LOVE. 



Love will live on forever 
Like an unending ray ; 

It is the unknown something- 
Surviving all decay. 

It is a conscious feeling, 
The substance of all joy ; 

It will exist forever, 

And nothing will destroy. 

It rises o'er all passion, 
The sum of every bliss, 

And reaches out forever 
To other worlds than this. 

It is that subtile something 
The soul claims for its own, 

And leading by its presence 
To greater good unknown. 

It is no finite feeling, 
Born of dissolving clay ; 

It will survive all nature, 
And suffer no decay. 

'T is infinite and lasting 
And endless in its sway ; 



POEMS. 73 



That perfect sense of gladness 
Willed to all tears allay. 

'Tis infinite in goodness, 
Exalting- ev'ry power ; 

'T is infinite in purpose 
To bless us every hour. 



O, WHERE'S THE HEART? 



O where's the heart that beats for me 
With rapture's fondest sigh, 

O where the flame's wild witching- glee 
That lit her flashing- eye ! 

Her voice once loudly ringing- far 

In the hushed summer air, 
Tho' listening- 'neath the evening star 

Its sound is never there. 

Her steps that once so lightly fell 

Now never greet my ears ; 
There's naught left of her now to tell 

Save my sad, hopeless tears. 



74 PO^MS. 



No light from yonder shining- moon 

Can fall upon her face, 
Nor bring- her back in night's pale noon 

To her frequented place. 

O where's the beam at night that tied 

Across the hill and lea ? 
Say, can it be the flame is dead 

That gave its lig-ht to me ? 

Yon distant star with searching- flame 

May see some angel bower, 
Where heavenly bloom surrounds the 
same 

With her its sweetest flower. 



A CASTAWAY. 



A drifting- boat here castaway, 

From hope's strong anchor cleft, 
I'm hurled with passion's furious sway 

That has each pleasure reft. 
O hapless life, if God-designed, 

On heaving billows toss'd, 
The creature here must be resigned, 

Tho' in the storm he's lost. 



POEMS. 



How often failing* hope revives 

The voyager's fondest dream ! 
What wounded heart can e'er survive 

The breaking* reefs unseen ? 
For me no grief-worn lips shall mourn, 

The haunting- answer comes, 
Above the tempest and the storm: 

"For thee shall mourn not one. ,, 

Well nig-h nry luckless life has sped 

Its ceaseless round of care, 
While chained around my heart the lead 

That drives me to despair ; 
Tho' oft-perchance 'twere ill-deserved, 

Yet still the answer comes, 
The same stern whisper still is served: 

"For thee shall mourn not one." 

Oh envy, had thy palsied hand 

Withheld its deadly blow, 
The loneliness where now I stand 

Mig-ht had a brighter glow. 
'T is hard to think no eye shall weep, 

Nor heart with grief shall turn 
To where forgotten I shall sleep, 

With none to mourn — not one ! 

Welcome the day that brings me rest, 
Then, then shall I be free; 



POEMS. 



How sweet the sleep will be— how blest— 
Tho' hatred shouts with glee. 

No songs shall wake the dreams of death 
Nor add to sorrows done. 

If env} r with its loudest breath 
Cries, "None to mourn, not one." 



GOD'S BLISSFUL SUMMER. 



O for God's blissful summer 

Of everlasting- May ; 
Whose sun shall shine forever 

In one eternal day. 

O for the happy morrow, 

When all our tears shall cease 

And when from every sorrow 
Our hearts shall find surcease 

When Satan's cruel power 
No longer can destroy, 

And we shall each bless'd hour 
'God's holy love enjoy. 

Then sin shall not endanger, 

Nor destiny control ; 
The Infant from the Manger 

Shall rule the human soul. 



POEMS. 77 



A HAY RIDE. 



An aged man that's wandered far, 
In search of golden gates ajar, 
At morn behind his dappled bay, 
Once thought to drive his cares away. 

Good fortune did his purpose bless, 
He found fond friendship's hand to press, 
With paper, pen, and thoughts in store, 
From leaflets of his classic lore. 

And on adown the easy grade, 

They pass'd the bloom of spring-time 

shade, 
While his old heart so wont to sififh 
Soon ran with pleasure's fancies high. 

His gifted friend in lyric mood, 
As pass'd the sward of green or wood, 
Blest with heart of jov and mirth 
Portrayed the beauteous face of earth. 

Until the white haired swain of old 
Seemed dwelling, too, in fields of j^old, 
For pleasure found that morn in May 
Drove all his pensive cares away, 



POEMS. 



The transports of that poet youth, 
Drawn from the sacred wells of truth, 
So filled the old man's heart with joy, 
He felt he was again a boy. 

And as they sped by stream and Held, 
He sought the more his friend to shield 
For while he tried to stay his arms 
He rilled his soul with rapture's charms. 

So oft that morning's early ride 
Renewed in thought is oft with pride, 
And may the friend, good fortune found. 
Soon stand on fame's most topmost round, 

One pleasure more I must forego; 
His name, I know, you'd like to know; 
And I would gladly speak the same, 
And would, if 'twas less known to fame. 




POEMS. 79 



BRAVE OLD BOYS OF FORTY=ONE. 



Down the ways so long- untrodden, 
Where their steps have seldom run, 

Borne along- on thoug-ht's swift pinions, 
Come the boys of Forty-one. 

Joe and John and Marv and Harry, 

Full as ever with their fun, 
With a rush I never dreamed of 

Come the boys of Forty-one. 

Here is Dave with law and ethics, 
With his science deftly spun ; 

On throug-h all the mists and shadows 
Come the boys of Forty-one. 

And as they around me g-ather, 

Rushing- in now one by one. 
Hands are grasped with old time fervor. 

Dear old boys of Fortv-one. 

Hush, my tongue, who would believe it? 

Such a change beneath the sun ; 
White their heads, and lame and trem- 
bling-, 

Stand the boys of Fortv-one. 



80 POKMvS. 



Stop, perchance I have been dreaming ; 

Filmy freaks by fancy spun ; 
No, they stand alive and breathing, 

Gray old boys of Forty-one. 

Shouts ring out with old-time laughter, 
As when school day tasks were done, 

Telling of friends left behind them, 
Dear old boys of Forty-one. 

Some have fallen bravely righting 
In th' fray where freedom won ; 

Decked with crowns of martial glory. 
Brave old boys of Forty-one. 

Others with the fruit they've gathered 
From the deeds of worth they've done, 

Now are wreathed with fame's fair laurels 
Brave old boys of Forty-one. 

Heroes, though not crowned by fortune, 

Ever fickle 'neeith the sun, 
Have wrought out the mission given 

To the boys of Forty-one. 

Tell me is it dream or reason, 
That has through my fancy run, 

Leading me into the .presence 
Of the boys of Forty-one. 



POEMS. 81 



Then aloud their lips gave utt'rance, 
With a slow and measured tongue : 

Clasp our hands onee more my brother, 
Dear old boy of Forty-one. 

Fate, thou vague and silent spectre, 
Dimming- much my setting- sun, 

Can'st thou tell when next we'll gather- 
The dear boys of Forty-one ? 



THE FATED WISH. 



Tho' one reluctant wish I g-ive 
To stay the parting- hour, 

Its mem'ry shall forever live 
With thrice increasing- power. 

How gladly would I now prolong 
The last sad parting- kiss ; 

And yet I would not do thee wrong, 
Tho' staying- gives me bliss. 

How strangely that in life's career, 
That we should thus have met. 

When thou to me art still so dear. 
Still thee I must forget. 



82 POEMS. 



Oh ! if, by some unkindly fate, 
Thy lips I ne'er shall press ; 

That fate I shall forever hate, 
Altho' thy lips I'll bless. 

How blind the folly that now binds 

Thee madly to my heart ; 
For 'tis that madd'ning- thought that 
rinds 

Life's only hope depart. 

Why now repeat, you will be mine. 
And hide thy wish from him, 

When chance has made him only thine, 
And e'en thy wish a sin. 

() why should stronger ties now bind 
Than heart here linked to heart, 

Altho' some man-made law may lind 
That you and I must part. 

Forgive the wish but not the deed, 

Thy name shall never blot. 
Tho' in regret my heart shall bleed. 

God would forgive it not. 

Then may thy dream soon pass away 

With this last fond caress. 
If phantom like, it often may 

Thy truant heart distress. 



POEMS. 83 



And when, fate's hopeless fate, at last, 

But oh, not yet, not yet ; 
But when fate itself, its fate has past, 

We'll meet as we have met. 



HOW SHE DONE IT. 



Bill, I'll tell you how she done it ; 

Promise, first, you will not tell ; 
She was such a gentle creature, 

Not a bit of flash nor swell ; 
Lips that looked like beds of roses, 

Having- such a witching- grace, 
Yes, I know you would believe it, 

If you'd only seen her face. 

Bill, I promised that I'd tell you, 

But it fairly makes me faint ; 
Don't you just beg-in to like her — 

Such a dainty little saint? 
I did, when I used to meet her 

When the clouds shut out the moon, 
Sitting-- there till early morning-, 

Yes ! I sometimes staid till noon. 



84 POEMS. 



Then I pressed her to my bosom. 

Gently 'g-ainst my beating- heart, 
When she smiled with such confusion 

I could scarcely then depart. 
While her eyes of dreamy sweetness 

Fill'd me with such boundless joy, 
Don't you think that you'd have done it ? 

Yes ! I know you would, old boy. 

No ! 'Tis not in human nature 

Not to like her as I did, 
For she had such tender sweetness 

Beaming in each drooping lid. 
When she with the faintest accents, 

With a twinkle in her eye. 
Said, kk I feel it is so cruel, 

Can I tell you? Yes; I'll try." 

Bill, what makes you look so qucerly ? 

Do you think I was to blame ; 
No ! 1 know if you had seen her 

You would just have done the same. 
You would do it? Yes, I know it ! 

Can I tell you ? No, not I, 
How she said it ; k 'I am married !" 

"What, you married? So am I !" 



POEMS. 85 



BELIEVE NOT THIS. 



Believe not this, nor say not that, 
That station changes feeling-, 

Nor oven grudge the famished cat 
Thy brother mouse she's eating". 



HAN'S ACHIEVEMENTS. 



Man's achievements are like vapors, 
Fading with the lapse of time, 

Valued only for the treasures 

Found 'mono- rocks of truth they climb. 

Truth with all its wond'rous pledges, 

Never yields to higher laws, 
Yet reveals where e'er it dredges. 

Deeper and profounder cause. 

Gold to-day in thoughts exchanges 

To the ages yet unborn, 
Will be worthless as time changes, 

Save it was once current coin. 



86 POEMS. 



Treasured as profoundest wisdom, 
Till a deeper thought is mined ; 

Soon to pass truth's crucial prism, 
Into clearer light refined. 

Later thought has deeper meaning-, 
Newer missions to fulfil ; 

Gifts of God in conscious being, 
Moving ever upward still. 

All philosophy can gather, 
Only points us to the pole ; 

Self-existent, true forever, 
Love the magnet of the soul. 

Yield to me, O God, the measure 
Of the truth I now desire, 

While I eager grasp the treasure 
That would every heart inspire. 




POEMS. 87 



LEARN TO LIVE. 



Learn wisely, here, 'tis best to live 

The best of life there is, 
For what the morrow yet may give, 

God knows, for it is his. 



IF SORROWS. 



If sorrows have with eag-er chase 
Oft wrung- your heart with pain, 

If bravely borne with manly grace 
It will assure a o-ain. 



88 POEMS. 



riOVING UP THE STAIRS. 



Strang-e ! how many changes meet us 
In the stream of life's affairs. 

Only treasure up the moments — 
And keep "moving- up the stairs." 

If you're toss'd upon its billows, 
With an endless chain of cares ; 

There's a rest that's waiting- for you— 
Just keep "moving- up the stairs." 

Learn to work and wait w r ith patience 
Shunning all life's subtle snares : 

It will bring a golden harvest — 
Just keep ''moving- up the stairs." 

Friendships often proving- fickle, 
Wheat is sometimes mix'd with tares 

Treasures often gained to lose them— 
Yet keep kk moving- up the stairs." 

Idlers often die with surfeit, 

Troubles, too, may come in pairs ; 

Don't let failures e'er discourage — 
Just keep kk moving up the stairs." 



POEMS. 89 



THE HIDDEN ROCK. 



A shining- rock once deep I found. 

Hid in the yellow sand ; 
'Twas by a stretch of ocean bound, 

Along- the harbor strand, 
I grasped it with an eag-er hold, 
I thought it was of purest gold, 

And bless'd the tide that drove the sea 
So far from off its pebbl'd bed, 
That I mig-ht then in safety tread 

Along- the rocky lea. 

A lofty house in fancy rose, 

With granite stone inlaid ; 
I rested in its sweet repose, 

This wond'rous house I made. 
'Twas bright with g-old and astral flame, 
Throug-h which I saw a noble name 

Writ on its g-arnish'd lintel frame, 
'Bove columns in the broad alcove 
Perfumed with an orang-e g-rove — 

A home of peace and fame. 

Long- since I've looked there day by day 

To find that shining rock, 
As fled the beating- surf away 

That never would unlock 



90 POEMS. 



The g-olden treasure I had found 
'Neath sea riff in the ocean ground. 

And still unquarried and unknown, 
The granite in my fancied stile, 
Lies now a dark sepulchral pile, 

With mould and moss o'ergrown. 

Still I am searching- as before 

Along- the ocean's edg-e, 
And daily tread the rocky shore 

To find that shining ledg-e. 
Now on the beach a cottag-e stands, 
Unstable in the yielding- sands, 

As back the rushing waters play. 
Or fleeing from the sandy beach, 
Where hope in vain its hands would reach, 

The rock hid in the spray. 

Far better it had ne'er been known, 

Nor seen its treach'rous place. 
From which the drifting sands had blown 

To show its shining face. 
Yet here it still will long decoy 
The wanderer with its base allo} r : 

For deep laid is its hidden pow'r, 
That like a brig-ht and shining moon, 
At midnigiit in life's wintry noon, 

Mig-ht brig-hten some dark hour. 



PO£MS. 91 



At night here in the crystal stream, 

The glinting stars are seen, 
And through its pale and yellow beams 

The banks are clothed with green. 
And all along- life's rugged way, 
Wild fancies ever more will play ; 

As well then may we deem them true 
As murmur o'er our life's mistakes, 
When e'er its blissful vision breaks, 

As often it will do. 

E'en they who may have found the mine 

That fortune does disclose, 
May fetters round their hearts entwine. 

To rob them of repose. 
So may the darkest moments here 
Turn to the May day's sweetest cheer, 

And we without one fretful sigh, 
If not allured by chase of gold, 
In gilded fancies we behold 

That glow but once and die. 

To such delights as here we meet. 

Our hearts may well incline, 
Tho' troubled oft with base deceit, 

'Twas not our own design. 
And tho' my hapless offspring roam 
Forever exiled from that home, 



92 POEMS. 



Why should I deign to shed a tear ? 
I might have less "of heritage" 
To shield me in declining age, 

Than my poor cottage here. 

And if unreasoning love of gain 

Has cursed both clown and sage, 
And wrung their hearts and souls with 
pain 

With its unmeaning rage, 
It bids me turn in swift review, 
To search for what I know is true, 

Down in my inmost soul may be, 
Roused from a long and restless night, 
And favored with a purer light, 

Which helps us all to see. 

To me, two lives do oft appear 

With strangely varying forms ; 
The one affords a mournful bier, 

The other braves the storms 
That had but bloom and roses left, 
And these have vain ambition cleft, 

To base endeavors 'twould have led, 
And with a felon's heartless stroke, 
It would have rent the giant oak 

And break the heart and head. 

This one shall we pursue at last, 
And chase the fatal scheme, 



POEMS. 93 

Until the chains are round us clasped 

By its deceptive dream, 
And we be driven wild away, 
Victims in its resistless sway, 

By all its fancied ghosts pursued. 
Shall we blot life's allotted hour, 
In which the truth is given power, 

Each day to be renewed. 



MY CELESTIAL DREAM. 



When through the drowsy night, 

I wait the breaking morn, 
Ere Phoebus strikes his blazing lamp 

To wake the sleeping dawn ; 
Orion with his stars beg-irth, 

Treads forth the milky way, 
On Eridanus devious stream, 

I wait returning day. 

When Virgo with her hundred eyes 
Looks down the distant waste, 

Then backward o'er the Polar stream, 
I g-aze with eager haste ; 



94 POEMS. 



Ah me, frail atom, frailer mind, 
Stray fleeting- waif, a beam. 

Lighter than is the heav'nly breath 
Of my celestial dream. 



THE PLOWMAN'S TOIL. 



Ambition whispered once a dream 
Above the plowman's daily toil ; 

But still I drive my stupid team, 
And turn the furrows of the soil. 

Why should I spurn my toils to-day ? 

Or why the plowman's lot despise ? 
For springing from this mine of clay, 

The corn with yellow cars will rise. 

Nature her blessings will bestow — 
May be perchance as man deserves ; 

And yet unflinching- gives the blow 
Which strikes the arm that her would 
serve. 

Forth from this earth-mould lying here, 
Though wrought with weary heart and 
brain. 



POEMS. 95 



A frugal harvest full of cheer 

Will come to soothe the toiler's pain. 

'T is well if now my path is thorned, 
That I employ my humble powers ; 

For once I might have rashly scorned 
Hard toiling- throug-h these lagging 
hours. 

Though idle ones may never know 
By whom they have been daily fed, 

Nor of the pangs they oft bestow 

To those who toil to earn their bread. 

Then on and on these bouts I'll turn, 
O'er sodden paths or beaten clay, 

II deeper in my heart may burn 

The dream that shall the dreamer slay. 



O 



96 POEMS. 



ART. 



Thy magic hand was given earth 
All grace and beauty to unfold ; 

Thou wast immortal from thy birth— 
Elysian's child and famed of old. 

Thou hast set truth with virtue's crown 

Above all earthly diadems ; 
Bcdeck'd with laurels of renown. 

And circled with love's priceless gems. 

Thou'st painted wealth with Sylvan 
towers, 

Brought from Arcadia's golden shore, 
It has, thou given classic bowers, 

Made radiant with its fabled lore. 

Thou'st drawn the landscape's smiling 
scene 

With limpid streams of silver spray, 
By margins bright with golden sheen, 

In lustrous hues of beaming day. 

Thou'st traced Madonna's face of love 
With outstretch'd arms and eves to see 

The glory falling -from above 
In its impassioned purity. 



POEMS. 97 



Will thou paint childhood's rosy bloom, 
With summer's sunkiss'd smiling- dyes ; 

Unsadden'd with a shade of g-loom, 
To cloud its pure confiding- eyes. 

Trace from thy vast exhaustless store 
Of sympathy's unmeasured deep, 

Where human hearts lie sick and sore, 
And human souls in sorrow weep. 

Paint nature's oft imperfect mould, 
E'en tho' with rarest beauty blest ; 

Encircl'd with a chain of g"old, 
To bind the jewels on its crest. 

Paint innocence's pure g-uileless face 
Alive with g-irlhood's sweetest joy ; 

Trace manhood of a nobler race, 
Drawn in a fair brow'd happy boy. 

Paint systems and philosophies, 

Not schemes to please a world of sin ; 

Nor scenes of doubtful prophesies, 

That seek throug'h wantonness to win. 

Paiiit patient toil half paid and fed, 
Beside the drone in ease and wealth ; 

Place him upon his scanty bed, 

Without his share of joy and health. 



98 POEMS. 



Paint him who with industry's wage 
Has gathered to his ample fold 

The hapless poor of every age, 

To aid them with his garnered g-old. 

Paint indolences slothful gait 

With listless careless sloven stride ; 

A vagrant, born to better fate, 
A brute without its native pride. 

Yes, paint a sin-encircled brow, 

With wickedness debased, deformed ; 

Touched with one soul-relieving- glow, 
That might through love yet be re- 
formed. 

Paint sentimental wretchedness 
Of real worth, without one share. 

Yet trace with all its vividness. 
That pain has wrought its furrows there, 

If thou the deeps of thought disclose, 
And with thy wand new truth reveal, 

I would the more, new tasks impose, 
To leave no doubts, no truth conceal. 

Paint then the straight and narrow way, 
W T here Christian churches hold control 

And show w T herein their wiser w r ay 
Through truth and virtue rules the soul, 



POEMS. 99 



Paint from the world a simpler scene — 
A mother in her dingy home, 

And touch my heart as 'twill, I ween, 
To see its loneliness and gloom. 

Paint pale faced woman's wistful brow, 
And him o'erbent with ceaseless toil, 

Lit with contentment's honest glow, 
Wrung- from hard favors of the soil. 

Paint her wan sorrow-hardened gaze, 
And manhood's pinched and hopeless 
stare ; 

And place along their red track'd ways 
The deadly desolations there. 

Paint want with long, sad features drawn, 
In hopelessness and grim despair, 

That at each morrow's breaking dawn 
Waits deeper griefs and tears to bear. 

Paint greed's dull visage dark and cold. 

Exacting his demand afresh, 
Until his clammy fingers hold 

In demon clutch his pound of flesh. 

And last upon the varied things, 
Let kindly beams from heaven fall. 

And hope poised on its angel wings 
May sit upon its barren wall. 



100 POEMS. 



Paint age with its bowed, trembling- head, 
Shorn of its grace and youthful flower. 

From which the lig-ht of life has fled, 
And left a wrecked and ruined bower. 

Paint the same form immortal crowrTd 
With vesture of celestial lig-ht ; 

A wreath of glory round it wound 

That holds us spell-bound by its sig-ht. 



Paint then beyond a dark void sea, 
A g-old rim'd shore's eternal rest. 

Shown plainly there on every lea, 
Souls borne to homes forever blest. 

But grant, I pray, my humble quest. 
Paint love with all its joyful power; 

May it illume each human breast 
With hope to bless its saddest hour. 

And far above the dreary mist. 

Frame one bright face with love divine. 
Crowned with g-old and amethyst. 

To clasp its loving- hands in mine. 



POEMS. 101 



WOULDST THOU? 



Wouldst thou life's bridge of tears here 
span, 

Then kindly bear thy earthly part 
Of sorrow's grasp on mortal man ; 

Bear it with pure, unselfish heart. 

Wouldst thou be counted u Te at 'mong-st 
men, 

Be neither master, nor a slave ; 
Be servant to thy brother then, 

That journeys with thee to the ^rave. 



102 POEMS. 



SHE'LL COME BACK SOME DAY. 



I miss her lov'd caress and care, 

I miss her now and everywhere ; 

I miss her when a voice I hear, 

And turn, half thinking- she is near. 

I think of her with locks as dark 

As raven's wing e'er time its mark 

Had touched her brow with threads of 

g-ray ; 
Her sweet young face but not to-day, 
That day. 



Yet still I know that she is mine. 
And will be through all lapse of tirn 
But when her voice methinks 1 hear, 
And stop and hark — she is not near ! 
Yet still I know I'm not alone, 
Though this but poorly does atone. 
For her sweet looks I would obey 
But cannot do it now, to-day, 
To-day. 



I miss her in my rest at nigmt, 
I miss her always from my sigdit ; 
I miss her when I wake at dawn, 
And take no pleasure in the morn, 



Poems. 103 



I miss her always in my sleep, 
And ever would her tresses keep, 
Though now they're ting-ed with threads 

of gray — 
But no, I cannot now, to-day. 
To-day. 

I miss her face — I yearn to meet 

Her in her once accustomed seat, 

Her clasping- hands I do not feel 

Nor thrilling kiss with love's own seal. 

But there or here, she still is mine, 

Though touched her cheeks are now with 

time, 
With hair of black, or white, or gray. 
She will come back to me some day, 
Some day. 



104 POEMS. 



WILT THOU AGAIN THEN TURN TO HE ? 



If fate has cast its shadows round 

This earthly life of thine, 
I pray there may a brighter beam 

Over thy pathway shine, 
And when thy heart is light and free 
Wilt thou again then turn to me ? 

Say, will thy heart then ever feel 

One pang of passing- pain, 
When turning- to old^mem'ries past, 

Awake their thought again, 
As backward down the way you see, 
Wilt thou again then turn to me? 

If chance that guides life's fateful stream, 

Has turned our lives apart, 
Will mem'rv ever treasure then 

Old secrets of the heart ? 
If so, ah ! then, how sweet 'twould be 
To know that thought then turned to me. 

Does faintly "linger there the dreams 

That once awake with joy, 
Then settled back into a fear 

That did the dream destroy ; 
Or wilt thou, standing on life's sea, 
Turn back again with joy to me ? 



POEMS. 105 



COME HOLY THOUGHT. 



Come holy stream of heav'nly thought, 
Now turn thy quick'ning- force to me, 

For in my soul, if still uncaug-ht, 

Though alien, yet thy gifts are free. 

Poor pensioner, thy bounty feeds 
Me from thy pure celestial spring's ; 

If I but yield myself it leads 
Me by the sacred joy it brings. 

It wakes the slumb'ring thought at rest. 

That has so long- unnoticed lain 
So silent, in my wonton breast, 

Untreasured in my sleeping- brain. 

Submission I must yield to thee, 
And trust the impulse of my heart, 

Nor dare to risk thy treasures free 
For what must be a minor part. 



106 POEM^. 



OLD AGE. 

If an icy hand has frozen 

Out the crimson on her cheek. 

There's a heart within her bosom, 
And a loving soul to speak. 

If her face is old and rig-id, 

Or seems troubled with a doubt, 

There is sorrow burning in it 

Love and kindness would drive out, 

If her garments, grown unsightly, 
In its outward garb of gray. 

Still there is a silver lining 
In her fading house of clay. 

If the aged stock is broken. 

There's a newer growth unseen, 
With a fragrance growing sweeter, 

In its aftermath of green. 

Touch her broken spirit lightly, 
If the newer one is strong ; 

For her voice may fall in silence. 
And her lips forget their song. 



PO^Ms. 10: 



THE ADIRONDACK BROOK. 

The mountain brook I lov'd so well, 
Still plainly ring's o'er glen and wold. 

With echoes flung- from rock and fell, 
As clearly as in days of old. 

Its voices still with transports ring-, 
Joined with the song-sof whippoor wills 

As when in g-ush of blithesome spring 
They rung- adown the wooded hills. 

It passes heath and meadow by 

In summer bloom and winter snow, 

And seems to chant its gladsome cry 
As softly now as long- ago. 

Its dizzy currents wildly run 

Around each rock-bound swashing- pool 
As when beneath the burning- sun 

A truant I had left my school. 

Where whirling in deep wells about 
The silv'ry shining minnows laid. 

And darting schools of sparkling trout 
Round dashing eddies sportive play'd. 



108 POEMS. 



THE STOLEN KISS. 

( ) what blissful pleasure came 
Of the stolen kiss I sing - , 

With the breath of love aflame. 
Glinting on its ether wing\ 

Silver boug-hs with golden leaves, 
DressVl with mantle of the sun, 

Hanging- from Elvsian trees 
Were the luscious apples won. 

Sweeter was its treasured bliss 
Than is dreamland to the soul ; 

Drank in Orpheus' orient kiss, 
From sweet Lethe's magic bowl. 

T was a soul-enchanting spell — 

Attar of the roses' lips, 
From the heart's incarnate well, 

When the muse for vintage sips. 



STAND BY RIGHT. 

As the rocks beneath the ocean 
Stand ag-ainst the dashing- spray, 

Stand bv right with true devotion, 
'Till the storms have pass'd away 



POEMS. 109 



HOW BLEST IT IS TO BE. 

When sorrow racks my aching- brain, 
And tears are falling fast as rain. 

A whispered voice to me, 
With music sweet my heart to cheer, 
Without my window oft I hear : 

"How blest it is to be." 

I am with sweet impressions charmed, 
A drifting- boat on seas becalm'd, 

While chasing through my door 
Are golden mem'ries, brightly clad 
With old remembrance doubly sad, 

Prom shadows on the shore. 

Yet silver beams with treasures play 
Around my steps with cheerful ray, 

To dress the shadows there ; 
Tho 1 if not what I'd wish to be. 
How blest to know that I am free 

Life's joys and tears to share. 

When here I meet my brother man, 
And read his heart, if read I can, 

Tho' if 'tis rudely dressed ; 
Deep 'neath the dross that lingers there 
There is a soul supremely fair, 

And though unknown 'tis blest. 



110 POEMS. 



If here my lot 'mong other men 

Not blest with pleasure much has been. 

By some strange fitful spell ; 
If much I here might daily ask. 
To aid me in life's thankless task. 

And why, pray answer tell ? 

There is that in my toiling here, 
The sweetest joys that come to cheer 

My hungry soul if sad ; 
If tear-drops fall with pangs of pain. 
And grief has left its uncouth stain. 

If still unknown, "I'm glad." 



THE JOY5 OF THE MORNING. 



Another morn to us has dawn VI 

At close of nightly shade. 
And peaceful songs of joy resound 

Where silent darkness laid. 

A bright, sweet morn, with gladd nin: 
beam, 

Awakes us from our rest, 
And every passing floating breeze 

Seems with new sweetness blest. 



POEMS. Hi 



() God, awake within each heart. 

A deeper sense of love ; 
And may we turn with hope and cheer 

To thee its source above. 

() touch with thy uplifting- pow'r 
Each wayward wand'ring- soul ; 

Till every shaft of error yields 
To truth's supreme control. 

The morn reflective brings thy peace 

Upon each zephyr's wing-, 
And nature seems more deeply blest ; 

And does more rev'rent sing. 

From far off shores and orient skies. 

A heavenly glow appears ; 
'Tis Bethlehem's ancient rising star ; 

To hush a world of tears. 

O morn, glad morn, receive our praise. 

As we awake from sleep, 
And bear to God our humble prayers, 

That man may cease to weep. 



- 



112 POEMS. 



THE WISDOM OF NATURE. 



Some wise purpose all nature underlies, 
As every plant does from its mother rise, 
And upward springs here from its early 

birth, 
With gathered vigor from its native earth. 

The goats their food high up the moun- 
tains seek, 
The eagle soars to reach the highest peak; 
No fleecy cloud will rest upon the plain, 
But rises hig-h if driven back in rain. 

The tide will not in deep retreats remain, 
But struggles hard to flood the higher 

plain; 
The silver dew that on the meadow lies, 
By that same law attempts ere noon to 

rise. 

The lily lifts its sweetly smiling face 
On high from out its hiding place; 
The coldest currents of the deepest stream 
May change to misty clouds of steam. 

All nature has this ever rising will, 
In time the valley seeks to be a hill ; 



POEMS. 113 



The upward purpose of all living- things, 
By all natures and from all nature springs. 

The soul chained in the charnal house of 

clay, 
Attempts in vain here oft to fly away, 
And when it breaks once from its mortal 

clod, 
'T will upward then arise to meet its God. 



LODORE. 



I list to the voice of thy wild currents 
speaking-, 
Transfixed with the spell of thy magi- 
cal charms, 
Till frenzy it wakes is so deepened with 
feeling, 
I'm awed into silence by fancied alarms. 
Enwrapp'd with the mist in the bright 
sunlight glowing, 
I stand on the brink of thy grav rocky 
shore 



114 POEMS. 



Where onward thy waters are evermore 
flowing-, 
And g-aze at thy wonders and beauty, 
Lodore ! 

Now dyed with the hues of the rainbow's 
brig-ht flashes, 
Whose tints tip with gold every mist- 
wreath and cloud 
That spring-s from thy bosom, o'er tor- 
rents which lashes 
To silver, the folds of thy white fleecy 
shroud. 
Yet proud and majestic thy wild seething- 
waters 
Their volumes of splendor unceasingly 
pour, 
From the streamlet above which quietly 
loiters 
Till reaching- the crest of thy summit — 
Lodore ! 

O how sweet are thy breezes, now damp 
with the foam 
That's spring-ing- from nature primeval 
and wild, 
Which in majesty rest while enthroned 
in its home, 
Whose mist-mantled temples my dreams 
have beg-uiled. 



POEMS. 115 



Yet wildly, more wildly, thy waters are 
sweeping 
Through ages whose footprints are 
marked on thy shore, 
While up from thy bosom the spray is 
now leaping, 
To crown thee with splendor and 
beauty — Iyodore ! 

I gaze on thee mutely, I'm awed by thy 
pow'r, 
Entranced by the spell which can only 
be thine, 
While over thy summit the mist-falling 
show'r 
Rains volumes of crimson and gold at 
thy shrine. 
Yet long will my mem'ry, thy beauties 
reprinting 
On white vapors lining thy spray- 
beaten shore, 
Or gaze when the sun o'er thy glory is 
sinking, 
And rev'rently dream of thy beauties— 
Lodore ! 



116 POEMS. 



THE BLUE=BIRD. 



Little blue-bird, sweetly singing, 

Perched upon my window-sill, 
While the rain-drops' merry patter 

Mingles with your music's trill, 
Little do you heed the tumult 

On the window-sill aloof, 
Happy, though the sun be hidden, 

With the rain-cloud for a roof. 

Louder grows the dash and patter 

Of the rain-drops on the pane ; 
Louder, sweeter rings the music 

Of thy jubilant refrain. 
v And the thought comes that the music 

I am listening to is proof, 
That the heart may have its sunshine 

Though the rain falls on the roof. 

Rings the music sweeter, clearer, 

While the rain-drops faster pour. 
And my heart drinks in the gladness 

Of its music more and more. 
For its melody seems bringing 

Heaven and happy mem'ries near, 
Till there's added to the rain-fall 

Echoes of a falling tear. 



POEMS. 117 



For a cadence in the rain-drops 

Casts a shadow o'er my heart, 
And a thoug-ht of solemn sadness 

In the low wind seems to start. 
Thus my soul is rilled with long-ing-, 

As the rain-drops faster pour, 
For the lost and unforg-otten, 

For the happy days of yore. 

the music bubbling- over 

From the bird-heart full of g-lee ! 

1 am thinking- of my sorrows, 

While his heart from care is free. 
Were my heart as g-lad as his is ! 

Ah, I fear my thoug-hts are proof 
That I grudg-e the bird its Heaven 

With the rain-cloud for its roof. 

Who has taug-ht thee happy blue-bird 

That thoug-h sky be foul or fair, 
Life may be to us a Heaven, 

If the heart is free from care ? 
Thus I pondered, g-lad and cheerful, 

Waiting- still his notes to hear; 
Seeming- ever there more gieeful, 

Ring-ing- sweetly, full of cheer. 

Softer, sweeter sounds the echo 
Of the little sing-er's lay, 



118 POEMS. 



As he spreads his shining- pinions 
And g-oes sailing- far away. 

While the rain-drops patter softly 
On the misty window pane, 

As I catch the last faint whisper 
Of his sweet and low refrain. 

So I dream, as from the distance, 
Dying- music seems to fall, 

Of the thing-s that I have long-ed for, 
And the joys beyond recall. 

And the music in its dying- 
Seems to charm me more and more, 

As I watch the song-ster living- 
.Up, away, to Heaven's door. 




POEMS. 119 



TRUTH. 



I would, ah yes, I would, dear Zell, 
Bathe in the sunshine of thine eyes, 

Distill'd within their liquid shell 

Like dews wept by the summer skies. 

I gladly would, ah yes, dear Zell, 

Now breathe the fragrance in thy breath, 
Perfum'd so in its lucid well 

It ne'er will soil at touch of death. 

I'd fold thee to my heart, dear Zell, 
With grasp of everlasting - joy, 

Enraptured with the holy spell 
That fate itself cannot destroy. 

Ah yes, I would, I would, dear Zell, 
List to the whispers of thy voice, 

Enchanted as it noiseless fell, 

And my poor heart would then rejoice. 

Thy sacred name is truth, dear Zell, 
Blest with infinitude of joys, 

Within whose lig-ht I'd love to dwell 
Free from the grime of life's alloys. 



i20 POEMS. 



TW0=FACEDNES5. 



If stabbing- g-ives you bliss, my pard, 
Go roll the bone and champ it, 

The g-lebe on which so grand a bard 
May ruminate with profit. 

No Dimmine will tip your tub, 
Or Cyclops cloud your sunhine, 

Yourself the only central hub 

Where passion blooms for pastime. 

If oft in cunning- art you're subtle, 
No doubt in its enjoyment, 

Your plebiean heart may chuckle 
Over its base employment. 

Apollo's favorite g-ifted son, 
With Proserpine embower'd, 

Like Pluto you have made the run, 
By Cicero's flame o'erpower'd. 

Of grand achievements, proudest g-ains, 

Like Somnus you inherit 
Only the stinging- of his pains, 

E'en tho' a sphinx in merit. 

But why profane the ancient g-ods 
With you so vain a pickle ? 



POEMS. 121 



For even their reproving- rods 
You do not care a nickel. 

Save Plavia with her am'rous gaze, 
That sets your heart to beating - , 

With latent passion all ablaze 
From secrets in its keeping-. 

Few natures have the taste or zeal 
That mark you as a hero ; 

The mildest passion that you feel 
Would only grace a Nero. 

Pray do not think that flatt'ry's art 
Has overdrawn your graces, 

For if ' tis true, as with your heart, 
You alwavs wear two faces. 




122 POEMS. 



THE NEW YEAR'S MEETING. 



With you, youth's rosy dreams came back 
To cheer my heart once more to-day ; 

While down across time's fading- track 
A spell, how sweet I cannot say, 

Which bade my quick'ning- pulse be still, 

Obedient to thine own sweet will. 

Tho' measured years long since have 
flown, 

I see thee now the same as then ; 
If different paths our feet have known. 

The new year bring-s us back ag-ain, 
Ere furrowed lines of wasting- care 
Were traced upon thy face and hair. 

Now in the lig-ht of mem'ry's beams, 
Are shadows fleeing- from my heart. 

No fleeting- years can break its dreams 
Nor keep my soul from thine apart ; 

They, swiftly as the new born day, 

Drive far the speedy years away. 

Once more we meet as when of yore, 
Thy eyes as brig-ht, thy hair as brown, 

And roses bloom on time's bleak shore ; 
Our hearts as lig-ht as thistle down, 



POEMS. 123 



While as the old year speeds away 
The new year dawns with brighter day. 

We live now o'er that, "olden time," 
Our hearts here meet again to say 

How sweet the old-time ways to climb, 
And listen to the new year's lay 

That comes far o'er the years from thee 

And whispered back ag-ain by me. 

Still lives the lingering" tie unseen, 

Within thy heart's deep deathless fold, 

Now by the old year's death kept green, 
Within my heart that ne'er grows cold ; 

And thine that was with love aflame, 

Must beat to-day for me the same. 



ALL YOU CAN. 



From the pain your heart has borne, 
From the griefs your soul has torn, 
Do thou for thy fellow man 
All you can, yes, all you can. 

For some wretch reft of life's joys, 
By neglect whose pow'r destroys, 



124 . POEMvS. 



Go and help that fellow man 
All you can, yes, all you can. 

Go for love you so much need, 
Do for him some simple deed, 
Go in haste down ruin's track, 
And bring- him back, bring- him back. 

Find some heart that wrong- has broke, 
With the burden of its yoke, 
Help it over life's roug-h span, 
If but little, all you can. 

Try and rind some balm to heal 
Griefs thy fellow man may feel. 
And only seek to wisely know. 
Wisely yet, more wise bestow. 

Breathe on him some hope to cheer, 
On him that wanders lonely here, 
Broken, heartless, helpless man ; 
If but little, all vou can. 



^#? 



POEMS. 125 



THE PATHWAY OF SUCCESS. 



No man can e'er success attain 

Without excessive toil, 
Nor can he harvest g-olden grain 

'Till he prepares the soil. 

No intuition of the mind 

Has e'er Fame's castle stormed, 

Nor thought immortal for mankind, 
Unless through effort formed. 

The idler waits for circumstance 

To flash the fitful flame, 
By which a kindly providence 

May light him on to fame. 



126 POEMS. 



MAN HIS OWN CREATOR. 



It is the one eternal will. 

That man's great heart bestirs, 
An offspring of the burning- kiln 

That nature's wrought in hers. 

If fuel burned be straw and chaff, 
' Twill yield a feeble flame. 

And worthless as the riff and raff 
That line the paths of shame. 

Of all the harvest you secure, 
You may give me as mine, 

And yet the g-ood that may enure 
To me, will still be thine. 

A wond'rous close my acre here, 
With hidden treasures fraught, 

For seedlings from another sphere 
Are planted in my plot. 

I tremble it is left to me, 

Alone to work and till, 
For O how deep the mystery 

Of life and human will. 

Yet we must mine the only field, 
God to us has g-iven, 



POEMS. 127 



And strive to make its fruitage yield 
Treasures tit for heaven. 

Haste my soul then with the trust, 

That I must not betray, 
Nor let the sacred jewels rust 

That 'neath my feet may lay. 



THE COLORED HERO. 



Out of the streets and lowest haunt 
There came a waif of grief and want. 

Naught shone upon his famished face 
Hut marks of a degraded race. 



That through his ebon colored she; 
No cheering glow of radiance fell. 



Nor ever had there fallen there 
A beam to light his heart of care. 

So feeble seemed his wandering thought 
That truth or worth it ne'er had caught. 

In that rude squalid hungry child, 
With roving eyes and glances wild, 



128 POEMS. 



Wrapped with his ragged, tilth}' dress, 
In utter loathsome wretchedness, 

Benumbed in limb with frozen feet, 
From ice that paved the city's street, — 

And yet around that dusky head 
A hero's halo lustre shed. 

Mid stately forms— men wise and great, 
Where rested wealth in pompous state, 

He strode up to the landlord's chair, 
As starving- beasts from out their lair. 

His shaking- form like aspen leaves 
Sways back and forth as wind-rocked 
sheaves ; 

The shadows fled his dusky face 
But left thereon of pain a trace. 

He asked the chance to earn his bread, 
Then humbly dropped his curly head. 

The landlord turned and kindly smiled 
Upon the way-worn wretched child, 

And speaking gently thus he said: 
"What can you do if clothed and fed ?" 



POEMS. 129 



The boy's eyes from their coal black zone 
Like stars at midnight brightly shone, 

Up at the wall and painted roof, 

He looked and said: "I can't give proof." 

A sudden charm, like wizard spell 
Moved hearts within that great hotel ; 

They gazed upon the trembling child 
Who glanced around and faintly smiled. 

The landlord once more kindly spoke, 
The answering eyes responsive woke, 

A vivid line with deeper trace, 
Retouched anew the sable face. 

He said: "Kind sir, I'll do my best !" 
And heartfelt gladness filled his breast. 

With clumsy feet and shambling stride 
A bell boy's work he vainly tried. 

He ill could please his kindly host, 
Yet labored hard to fill his post. 

tJpon the car with rope in hand 

He begged that he might take his stand. 

A year with rapid change had past, 
The fierce winds blew December's blast ; 



130 POEMS. 



The beggar boy grown lithe and strong, 
The childish heart was full of song, 

As up and down the well he went. 
He felt the bliss of sweet content. 

With human freight from floor to floor 
He glanced at every passing door, 

He bravely tried to do his best 
And never left his post to rest. 

A sweet young girl with lovely face, 
A child of pure Caucasian race, 

Rode up and down from floor to floor, 
The happy boy did her adore. 

A friendship strong as granite hill, 
Grew daily in each youthful will. 

The little maid benignly smiled 
Upon the bright faced colored child. 

The stars shone out with silvery eyes 
Through chill and frost of winter skies. 

A loud alarm of clanging bell 

Through hush of night, disturbing fell ! 

A hundred guests in soundest sleep, 
It startled from their slumbers deep. 



POEMS. 131 



The firemen rang- their doleful gong-, — 
Its notes dismayed the waking- throng-. 

The boy spring-s up with frensied start 
To act a hero's daring- part. 

A cry of grief, a hopeless moan 
Escaped where flames throug-h roofing- 
shone ! 

Clutching- the rope and rising- car 

Up throug-h the flame and smoke afar, 

The boy in face of death and fate 

Goes back and forth with precious f reig-ht. 

And all are saved — Alas ! but one — 
That boyish heart is turned to stone ! 

Above the mouth of blazing well, 
The child's entreaties piercing fell. 

With bleeding hands all red with gore, 
The boy starts for the topmost floor. 

The quivering beams and burning sash 
Fast break and fall with dismal crash. 

Through smoke still speeds the burning 

car, 
Bright flaming as a shooting star. 



132 POEMS. 



Up as it goes with steady tread 
rathere 
dread, 



The gathered throng- stood back with 



Till down again with firey blast 

It comes with quickened step at last. 

The trembling child with clutching grasp 
Is held in arms with tender clasp ; 

The lire-scorched eyes are opened wide 
They see the rescued child with pride. 

He cried : " She's safe, and I am free!'' — 
Rose then to Heaven's felicity. 




POEJMS. 133 



NOT THAT WHICH MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 



When e'er I turn in doubt and dread dis- 
trust 
To what I am in all life's real thoug-ht, 
I feel how crude and gross it ever must 
Appear to all the works that I have 
wrought. 

To that which is, not what it mig-ht have 

been, 

Is due the curse or blessings I must 

share 

O'er life's rough way that I still travel in; 

Held here in bonds by its besetting- care. 

Our early hopes are like a laug-hing- 
stream, 
Where playful songs ring with their 
joyous mirth, 
Then die away as a remembered dream 
That was illusive even from its birth. 

Yet when I gather all the fruits I've won, 
And think if they be lost how much I'd 
lose, 



134 POEMS. 



I know God will judge right and strug- 
gle on, 
While trying from the best, the best to 
choose. 

I blame myself for that which might have 
been, 
Or that I have so little gold in store 
Of soulful thought as now I need, must 
win 
Through toil by striving daily here for 
more. 

Then when I see God's smile on me so oft, 
E'en in my tears, through grief so hard 
to bear, 
I would my bleeding heart were still more 
soft 
Than 'twas, e'er scored with weary 
years of care. 

If I were judged by what, " I might have 
been," 
And my great neighbor with his gold 
and fame, 
In God's own eyes if now unknown to men 
I might deserve the greater share of 
blame. 



PO#MS>. 135 



Unto the g-ood I now^possess, I turn; 
And tread my way with deeper hopes 
and joy, 
For brig-hter will the lamp of truth then 
burn 
Whose light no vagrant fears nor doubts 
destroy. 



THAT CRUEL WORD. 



I ne'er had thought an angry word 
Could from thy lips be spoken, 

Yet sadly, when its sound I heard, 
My fondest hopes were broken. 

I did not think that in thy heart, 
That cruel thoug-ht had rested ; 

But thus it is lives torn apart 
And joy from both, is wrested. 

I did not think, that one so true, 
But, oh ! 't was all in seeming- — 



136 POEMS. 



And yet I will not charge to you 
The blame of all its meaning - . 

I would not thought, and yet I know 
That cruel word was spoken, 

I'd g-ive the world if 't were not so ; 
For it my heart has broken. 



LITTLE SPHINXES. 



Hark, ye busy little sphinxes, 
How you tangle up my brains, 

There — you've spilt my ink, you minxes, 
On the carpet, see the stains ! 

Tug-ging- at the chairs and easels, — 
Run, they tumble all to smash, 

Little, waspy, cranky weasels, 
Going- headlong- with a crash. 

Up ag-ain, with bleeding- noses, 
Dancing- wildly, with a squall, 

With their cheeks as red as roses, 
Till they take another fall. 



PO£MS. 135 



Romping-, stomping-, jumping-, laug-hing-. 

With their tireless prattling- tread, 
Until driven off by coaxing-, 

They g-o scolding- into bed. 

Yet I cannot do without them, 

And I would not if I could, 
For I love the noisy bedlam 

Of my darling- robins g-ood. 

O how sadly do I miss them, 

Till I g-o to claim a kiss, 
Saying- in my heart: " God bless 'em, 

How I would my darling-s miss !" 




138 POEMS. 



THE FLOWER GATHERED BY ME WAS 
LOVE. 



He drank the fruitag-e of the vine 
As if it was sweet honey dew, 
With its red tint or purple hue, 

While sipping- free his sparkling- wine; 
It was despite its g-olden g-lint 
Like g-all or wormwood, and not mint. 

He, in abundance, g-arnered g-old, 
And treasures floated back to him, 
Till all his hoarded wealth grew grim, 

Only to leave his heart more cold ! 
He loathed as baubles all his gain, 
That made him trouble, grief and pain. 

He soug-ht for glory known to war, 
And found him to a tyrant chained, 
Red- handed heartless he had g-ained, 

Left with a curse and crown to draw, 
As rivers round him seemed to swell 
Afloat with forms of death and hell. 

He climbed a temple raised by fame, 
To lind it but an empty sound, 
A g-lutton soul with plenty bound, 

He all his glory did disclaim ; 



POEMS. 139 



For he and fame then parted there, 
With less of joy and more of care. 

He longed for pow'r the sceptre gave, 
And found a cold and wanton league, 
So steeped with crime and false intrigue 

Within his fame wreath'd tow'r a slave 
That faded as his flesh wore out 
With mem'ries of distrust and doubt. 

He cursed his God, and then cursed man, 
As power and fate he thus defied ; 
And unregretted there he died, 

Still cursing fate and fate's wise plan, 
And fell with foes, without a friend, 
Still cursing life until the end. 

I gathered me a fair white flow'r, 

I saw it growing at my feet, 

For its pure fragance was so sweet. 
And since, my heart has from that hour, 

Been free as sunshine from above. 

The flower I gathered then was love ! 



140 POEJMS. 



THE UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE. 



Before we scarcely taste the good 
That's here around us spread, 

The living-, standing- where we stood. 
Will whisper: "He is dead." 

Yet God will help us as we pass 
Deaths dark and dreaded door, 

And ang-els meet us in the path, 
Along- the further shore. 



LIFE HID IN THE SUMMER SHOW'R. 



There's life hid in the summer show'r 
That's falling- by the way ; — 

I'll breathe its breath in every flow'r 
For God has willed I ma}-. 

Can aug-ht of grander wealth there be, 
Than share of lordly pow'r, 

Ripe in my conscious soul and free 
Bequeathed to me each hour ? 



POEMvS. 141 



The past is but a beam of light, 

All centered in to-day, 
The future is an endless flight, 

Receding- still away. 
* 
But this blest moment, it is mine, 

All mine, here to enjoy ; 
Of truth and fruitage, sweet, divine, 

And will'd to bring- me joy. 

I'll drink the sweets of every rose 
That blossoms by the way, 

And seek the only blest repose 
That nature wills each day. 



UPON THE SAND. 



A rich man, heartless, proud and cold. 

Stood with his folded hands, 
Yet knew not that his house and gold 

Was built upon the sands. 

His neighbor dwelt across the way, 
And toiled from year to year, 

Yet as he toiled from day to day. 
His heart was full of cheer. 



142 POEMS. 



A barren spot of earth he till'd, 
Which scarcely fed his flock, 

With love his humble house was fill'd- 
It was upon a rock. 

He gathered faggots for his light, 

And lived on scanty store, 
Yet never in a winter's night 

Was want turned from his door. 

The rich man in an easy chair 

Sat by an astral flame, 
The poor man burdened with his care, 

The rich man with his fame. 

His heart was comfortless and cold, 
With all his goods and land, 

His only God was in his gold, 
And that was built on sand. 

The one, in poverty was blest, 
Love linked to fellow man ; 

Fear reveled in the other's breast, 
As av'rice only can. 

Of earthly store man should have all 
Of wealth that lie may need, 

But truly here a curse will fall 
On him who lives for greed, 



POEMS. 143 



Thus, then it was, with these two men, 

So far in life apart, 
And so it here has ever been, 

If love rules not the heart. 



HE WAS HIS MOTHERS JOY. 



He's going" to jail with downcast eyes, 

And woe begone his gaze, 
That once beamed full of tenderness, 

In childhood's happy days. 

A ragged and wanton outcast, 
He bears the mark of Cain ; 

His shoeless feet are dark with grime, 
And wan his face of pain. 

I knew him once a lovely child, 

A sprightly, winsome boy, 
He was then his father's pride 

As well as mother's joy. 

Hark ! from his lips a doleful cry, 

A low heart-broken wail, 
That rings with agonizing sigh — 

They're taking him to jail. 



144 POEMS. 



Oh, pity him, who pity can, 
Lest crime his soul destroy ; 

He was so loved in childhood's prime 
And was his mother's boy. 

Yes, pity him, his faults condone, 
His path was full of snares, 

And bore with it, such fruits of shame, 
The wheat so mixed with tares. 

His heart that has so often erred, 

May beat again with joy ; 
Then pity now, oh, pity him — 

He was his mother's boy. 



IN THE HUSH WHEN NIGHTFALL SIT 
TETH. 



In the hush when nightfall sitteth 
On life's bright enchanted shore, 

And the vesper music ringeth 
Sweetly round my cottage door ; 

With the silver dome of Heaven 
Smiling from its glinting eyes 

On the sweet enchanting haven, 
'Neath the gold encircled skies; 



POEMS. 145 



Then my heart, the gladness filling-, 
As through starlit worlds I rove, 

Mid the angel voices ringing 
With their sacred songs of love. 

Drinking to the soul's full measure, 
Wand'ring down the milky way, 

Gladdened by the heart's best treasure, 
In that spirit sphere away. 

O'er the gold-tipped shining mountains, 
Where the sunbeams never die, 

And the whispered voice of fountains 
With celestial cadence ply. 

Where the spirit footsteps traverse, 
O'er the hazy steeps of gold, 

Walking with their God above us, 
As in wonderland of old. 




146 POEMS. 



THE inriUTABILITY OF LOVE. 



She turned to'ard me I know most will- 
ingly, 
To where our footways both joinVl in 
one, 
And in her face was beaming-, smilingly, 
A radiance bright as the morning- sun ; 
I trembled then althoug-h I knew not why, 
As on with swifter step I passed her by. 

We met at school, a tear hung- in her eves, 
And her pure lips were rimm'd with 
pallid hue, 
Like sun-rays when the purple twilig-ht 
dies ; 
I blindly felt that I was to self untrue, 
And all daylong my troubled fancies rose, 
While as we met her drooping eves would 
close. 

At night she slowly folded up her books. 

Some time I long-er waited over mine, 
Our eyes would meet in such strang-e 
thoug-htful looks, 
That then disclosed it was our mutual 
desig-n ; 



POEMS. 147 



And as we slowly to the pathway .turned, 
While in her eyes a deeper lustre burned. 

I tried to speak and said some foolish 

thing-, 
She turned from me and I quite well 

knew w1ia t , 
And g-athering- wild flowers to me would 

bring-, 
While timidly she g-laneed at me, so shy; 
I felt that sense had lost in me control 
And a strang-e passion mig-ht unman my 

soul. 

'Twas thus at times we ling-ered time 
away, 
And g-ather'd pebbles from the meadow 
brook, 

Forg-etting- then, to us, how brief the day, 
Till she rose, turning- with a troubled 
look, 

Hastening- to where we knew our ways 
would part, 

While I felt mine and heard her beating- 
heart. 

A moment and perchance no word was 
said, 
Yet in her gaze, I now can see so well, 



148 POEMS. 



Were beams of love that to my heart 

had sped ; 
And her bright eyes owned she too, felt 

the spell, 
Whose pow'r we felt and half unconscious 

knew, 
Yet heav'nly angels wrote that it was true. 

Through childhood and the speeding days 

of youth, 
The years, so full of whisper'd joys and 

pain, 
Were welded with the sacred chain of 

truth, 
With love eternal that can never wane; 
Yet no words broke, to each the plighted 

vow, 
But soul to soul spoke then the same as 

now. 

To-night I recollect now as well as then. 
As we the pathway walked there side 
by side, 
While autumn winds were sweeping down 
the glen, 
And echoes in the leafless branches 
died, 
For 't was the last on earth we ever met, 
Yet heart to heart as then is answering 
yet. 



PO^MS. 149 



Time oft has touched me with its pointed 
lance, 
And cast its shade upon the passing- 
years, 

Yet still for me now shines her lovelit 
g-lance, 
Sweetened with mem'ry of its child- 
hood's tears ; 

And soul with soul in holy trysting-s 
meet, 

As down the way I hear her childish feet. 



FRUITS OF GREED. 



He that toils daily without rest, 
And gives to greed control, 

Will breed a cancer in his breast, 
And kill his very soul. 

And for the bartered price of self, 
Will reap its fruits, a curse, 

For all his labor and his pelf 
Will be of tears the birth. 



150 POEMS. 



OUR BABY. 



Our baby, Mildred is her name. 
With life a-flurry, all a-flame, 
And sparkling eyes that well defin'd 
The priceless jewels of her mind. 

With crimson cheeks of dainty hue, 
As sweet as pearly drops of dew, 
And tangTd curls of auburn hair 
That play upon her brow so fair. 

Her lips, O Heaven, who can tell ? 
Were the ang-els before they fell, 
One-half as sweet as now are thine. 
While lisping- from thy soul divine ? 

And thou art, too, so full of mirth, 
Though scarce two years past since thy 

birth, 
Yet winsome are thy loving- ways, 
In all thy simple childish plays. 

If sometimes on thy lips a pout, 
That e'en their smiles cannot keep out, 
While tears are falling- from thine eves. 
Their laug-hing- sunshine quickly dries. 



POEMS. 151 



And then I clasp her in my arms, 
While thanking- God for all her charms. 
And bless the little yearning- frame, 
That quickly calls ag-ain my name. 

As with a sob she can't repress, 
The tearful infant eyes express, 
Her quiv'ring- lips ring- out with pain : 
"O, Gran'pa, I won't cry ag-ain !" 



JEAN FREEDA. 



On Yarrow's rocky, sodded shore, 
' Jean Freeda's cottag-e stands, 
There sits she daily by the stile, 
And clasps her wasted hands. 

Oh grief ! how long- thy furrows deep, 

Her rig-id face has borne ; 
How long her scanty snowy locks. 

Have been of beauty shorn. 

One thoug-ht, and only one, is hers, 
Her lang-uid eyes grown dim, 

And every breath that aspen stirs, 
Or whisper is from him. 



152 POEMS. 



Now staring-, with unconscious g-aze, 

Out on the foaming- surf, 
She's waiting- for a coming- sail. 

To reach her native turf. 

The years have sped with rapid pace, 

Across her sea-girt land, 
And every step she thinks is his, 

That's heard upon the strand. 

'Twas spring"-time, in the early morn, 
When Malchus reef'd his sail, 

And little thoug-ht how soon the mast 
Would fall before the g-ale. 

Jean Freeda was the fairest flow'r 
That dwelt on Yarrow's shore, 

And ruled like Isis' fabled queen 
In Egypt's ancient lore. 

Many a suitor soug-ht her hand, 

So great was her renown, 
But one, Sir Malchus, won her love, 

And g-ained the priceless crown. 

He was well known on Yarrow's shore, 

And country far and near, 
They g-loried in the rising- fame 

That crown'd his brief career. 



POEMS. 153 



That olden-time, forgotten now, 
When Phoebus' martial band 

Lay anchored fast at Yarrow's shore, 
Along- the rocky strand. 

How strange thy mandate, cruel fate, 

To sever heart from heart, 
Or leave one sovereign grief to slay, 

Or tear life's ties apart. 

No neighbor knows in all that realm, 

She is four score and ten, 
When that proud ship last turned its 
prow, 

Out on the sea again. 

As arm in arm along the shore, 
They stept that morn in May, 

Jean Freeda turned a frightened glance 
Across the rolling bay. 

The sea flung back a wilder moan, 

Against the rocky shore, 
The billows of the troubled deep, 

Their dirges onward bore. 

With trembling lips and pallid cheeks, 
She prayed he might not sail, 

She'd gladly share her gold with him, 
Would he not tempt the gale. 



154 POEMS. 



A cloud rose dark as raven wing-, 

A blast fell on the wave, 
And wildly did the tempest wail. 

As solemn as the grave. 

A tear revealed his faithful heart, 
He spoke one parting- word, 

That ling-ered sadly in her ears, 
The last she ever heard. 

Her tears in swollen steamlets ran 
Fast down on Yarrow's shore, 

And sorrow chilled her broken heart, 
Now dead forevermore. 

Pain left its trace of whitened threads 

Upon her auburn hair, 
It bleached the roses on her cheeks 

That once had blossomed there. 

A pale blue line, with thunder, broke 
Athwart the darkened skies ; 

And where the Phoebus proudly stood 
Did lurid flames arise. 

She looked ag-hast, the rising- flame 

Lit up the foaming- spray, 
As she, with utter ag-ony, 

Turned on her homeward way. 



PO#MS. 155 



There came a mingled wail and cry 

Across the rag-ing- sea, 
Where old Jean Freeda waits the ship 

She nevermore shall see. 

To her there is a coming- sail, 
Breasting- the beating- surf, 

She wildly thinks that Malchus' ship 
Rides anchored near the turf. 

And sitting- there from early morn, 

She g-azes at the sea, 
With sig-hs that sadden e'en the moan 

That sounds along- the lea. 

While strang-ers there on Yarrow's shore 

Behold her reft of sense, 
And pass the mourner softly by 

With tend'rest reverence. 

Wet with the mist and falling- dew, 

With incoherent cries 
She turns back to her cottag-e door, 

Beneath the sullen skies. 

Then seaward wends on weary feet, 
With weird and tearless eyes, 

And clasps again her clammy hands, 
And wails with sadder sijrhs. 



156 POEMS. 



With deeper seams her brow is marked, 
And snow white is her hair, 

Now famished looks the withered face 
That once was bright and fair. 

And evermore the dirges ring* 

From billows back to land, 
As poor Jean Freeda lonely sits 

On Yarrow's ocean strand. 

Ere long her sad old broken heart 

Will from its grief be free, 
And she and Malchus meet for aye 

Beyond the moaning sea. 



POEMS. 157 



THE TYRANNY OF HABIT. 



My enemy has struck at me, 
For now I feel the blow ; 

He stole my time, my liberty, 
And wants my life, I know. 

Yet now I seem to love him more, 
The more that he betrays, 

And still his slave now, as before. 
I find myself always. 

Alas ! that habits such as these 
The tyrant muse has taug-ht, 

Should lure me only to deceive 
When in his meshes caught. 



158 POEMS. 



LINES 

Written at the grave of an old schoolmate, Miss Adaline 
Fisk, Brushton, Franklin Co., N. Y., Oct. i, 1885. 



This crumbling- marble marks the spot 
Where, 'neath the hallow'd ground, 

Her sacred form in peaceful sleep 
Unbroken rest has found. 

Slowly the waning- sparks of life 

Like dwindling- tapers burn, 
As from this world's unceasing- strife 

I sadly to thee turn. 

If thou couldst from thy slumber wake, 

And my fond bidding- hear, 
Quickly thou VI answer to my call, 

And stay this falling- tear. 

For love's own strong-, unchang-ing- spell 

Would wing- thy ang-el feet 
To me, now by thy lonely tomb, 

Here in this sad retreat, 



POEMS. 159 



THE IDLER. 



The idler, who awaits the death 
Of some not unsuspecting- friend, 

Will languish till his latest breath 
Shall reach its unregretted end. 

Let self reliance be the rock 

On which thy superstructure stands, 
Nor let illusive whispers mock, 

With promised help from other hands. 

Wouldst thou be like the shell-fish cast 
By driving waves upon the shore, 

And dying-, wait the coming- blast, 
To bring- the waters back once more ? 

If so thy cring-ing-, coward heart, 
Will meet the measure and reward 

Well earned by him who acts a part, 
That waits to be another's ward. 

Dependent on thy native force, 
To win the much desired prize, 

Thou'lt find in life's chill rug-g-ed course, 
The greatest blessings in disguise. 



160 POEMS. 



I WILL. 



The deathless forces of my will 
Shall every power of mine control, 

Until life's purpose I fulfill, 

The inbred longings of my soul. 

My purpose right, my armor true, 
Obstruction now I scorn thy pow'r ; 

This light, oh God, has fell from you, 
To guide my feet through every hour. 

Failure, no longer to thy sway, 
Will I, submissive coward, yield ; 

Succeed I will, I vow to-day, 
Till I stand victor in life's field. 

These inborn promptings are of God, 
No canting doubt can e'er repress ; 

My feet anew with steel are shod, 
My tireless will shall yield success. 

The day- of halting fear is past, 
One end eternal in my view : 

That end I know I'll gain at last, 
God helping — brain and sinew too ! 



POEMS. 161 



ON BURNING A HANUSCRIPT. 



Soon in oblivious calm shall wane 

Your breath, and cease in leaping- 
flame, 

Yet to the tomb where thou art lain, 
No friend shall come to kinship claim. 

Thoug-h rich with well bespattered ink, 
Thou soon shall lie in this old stove, 

And no empyric e'er shall think 
To search for you as treasure trove. 

Far more inglorious my repose, 

Than thine with thy imperfect lines, 

For soon oblivion's shade shall close 
O'er us, with thine the one that shines. 

The devil must have planned your lot 
Or else, you mig-ht have found reprieve; 

Begone, the Devil and his plot, 

The writer will not o'er thee grieve. 



162 POEMS.. 



I DO NOT KNOW. 

I vainly look from face to face 

And yet cannot discover, 
From all the dents and lines I trace, 

The secrets that they cover. 

Oft noisy groops I hurry by, 
Or stop to meet their gazes, 

Where hope and hate and sorrows lie 
In all their wanton phases. 

Yet you may smile as on I go. 

In search of truth forever, 
And you may see and you may know — 

I may not now nor ever. 

In all life's rough and traveled ways 
Lie wrecks of broken pledg-es ; 

Yet hope and faith's celestial rays 
Light up their dreary edges. 

I ask of them, and will of you. 

The causes of our sorrow. 
They answer back perchance and true, 

We half our troubles borrow. 

Yonder there stands a marble hall, 
And here in view T a hovel, 



POEMS. 163 



That ring- with hunger's plaintive cry, 
Or wealth and pleasure's revel. 

And lo ! where vestal music ring's, 
And throngs to worship rally ; 

Where pride to flounting- vesture clings 
And walks with greed her alley, 

The bigot armed with shallow thought, 
And pompous fancies reign, 

Contemptuously turns from my lot, 
And leaves me with disdain. 

I here meet nature's noble men, 
Untaught save by the heart ; 

They leave my heart so gladdened then 
With pleasures they impart. 

Yet vailed beneath life's complex forms 
Lies deep destructive force, 

That breaks with passion's wildest 
storms 
'Neath desolations course. 

Clowns still unite with wisdom's sage, 

And tinker at our laws ; 
Yet often with their senseless rage 

Confound effect with cause. 

Will the all-wise pervading will, 
With its reforming pow'rs, 



164 POEMS. 



Awake all hearts with pleasure's thrill, 
As sunshine wakes the flow'rs ? 

If want and woe and wealth and pow'r, 

Virtue and vice ally, 
Could peace and joy exist an hour, 

And God and truth defy ? 

Yet you may smile as on I go 

In search of truth forever ; 
And you may see and you may know— 

I may not now nor ever. 



ENVY. 



Envy now sits in virtue's pure retreat, 
And feigns religion, though it loves de- 
ceit ; 
Dissembling most when seeking virtue's 

fall, 
Yet answered first at virtue's plaintive 

call. 
As angels would be Gods, and did rebel, 
So would it now turn heaven into hell, 



POEMS. 165 



Well named it is, and keen its piercing- 
eyes, 
Its venom lieth deep but never dies ; 
For envy envies all of nobler birth, 
And flees from those he deems of greater 

worth. 
From sense of shame existent in itself, 
He virtue shuns as she shuns worthless 

pelf. 
So envy envies all it can't excel, 
And falls itself where wounded virtue 
fell. 



MAY THE SWEETEST ROSES TWINE. 



Round the lowliest, humblest calling-, 
May the sweetest roses twine ; 

Tho' I am a drone or vagrant, 

Still the sunbeams round me shine. 

Rocks obtrude in every pathway 
O'er which travel human feet, 

Yet the pleasure in surmounting-, 
Gives a bliss supremely sweet. 



166 POEMS. 



If the hill is steep you're climbing-, 
Bravely breast the sharp incline, 

For no roses can you g-ather, 
Until first one plants the vine. 

Toil will bring- the fruit it merits, 

If you wisely truth pursue, 
Giving it your best endeavor, 

Earnest, fearless, brave, and true. 

'Neath the steps where you are walking, 
Now the brightest gold may shine, 

Yet how worthless is the treasure, 
Unless first one works the mine. 

Labor never is so tiresome 

But some pleasure 't will afford, 

Only let the heart be cheerful, 
Breathing hope in every word. 



a 



POEMS. 167 



THE SWALLOW AND THE GROUSE. 



A swallow 'neath his sheltered wall, 
Was startled by a morning- call, 
Then peering- from his mud-built house, 
He saw a more pretentious grouse. 
Methinks that most unwisely said, 
Why hide in that unseemly shed, 
While you in leafy shades mig-ht dwell, 
As I, went on this puffy swell, 
Still piping- with his boasting- song-, 
To chide the swallow, all the 

Morning- long-. 

The swallow, with his drooping- wing-, 
Did then, I thoug-ht, more mournful sing-; 
Till raising- up its head aloft 
It sang-, more sweetly loud and soft : 
My house with new sweet grass is lined, 
And daily I my duties mind, 
While from the fields I bring- the food, 
With mother love to feed my brood ; 
And if I don't thy greatness share, 
I'm happy with a swallow's care. 
Thus, they sang- all the morning- long-, 
To me the swallow's was the 

Sweetest song-. 



168 POEMS. 



FAITH. 



There is one bright endearing- raj, 
That will forever brightly shine, 

To drive the darkest clouds away, 
With her exhaustless light divine. 

When drifting on life's pensive shore, 
Or shaken by relentless storms, 

That same unchanging hope of yore, 
With love illumes the darkest forms. 

When cold reproof and deep regret, 
Like piercing thorns cling to my brow, 

Thy gentle gaze I then have met, 
Still true to some rememb'red vow. 

When envy's harsh, remorseless heel, 
Has crushed my heart with with'ring 
blast, 

Thy healing presence then I feel, 
Until its grief and pains are past. 

Through fruitless effort, yielding pain, 
There is to me one guiding star, 

When all ambition's dreams were slain, 
Seen through the heav'nly gates ajar. 



POEMS. 169 



If mem'ry wakes its golden store, 
Thy looks of tender love will rise 

More lucent than they were before, 

With that same changeless face and 
eyes. 

When pleasure shared with doubtful glee, 
A moment drowns my truant thought, 

I turn with rapture back to thee, 
Until again thy gaze is caught. 

Whose beams with thrice increasing 
pow'r, 

Rekindles then the passive flame 
That brightly shines through every hour, 

With love eternal, still the same. 

When sorrow seems my heart to hedge 
Here firmly with its iron grasp, 

There rises thy unwritten pledge, 
To break at once its deadly clasp. 

And no deluding moment bars 
The mem'ry of thy loving gaze, 

Far brighter than the brightest stars, 
Thy face still shines with love ablaze. 



170 POEMS. 



THE INSTABILITY OF TIHE. 



When in our youth, how swift the mo- 
ments fly, 

And ere we know it, they have pass'd us 
by; 

On thus, we live as up life's hill we climb, 

On past enjoyments, not on present time. 

As in the nig-ht glow of phosphorescent 

bark, 
Whose beauty's never seen save in the 

dark ; 
So, affection clings fondest round the 

heart ; 
For those we love the most, when we 

must part. 

Yet if this blessed source of pleasure fail, 
We then, need not our later loss bewail ; 
For nature does in goodness here provide 
A kinder friend on whom we may confide. 



POEMS. 171 



MEDITATION. 

When in the deep blue summer sky, 
The rainless clouds are floating- high 

Above my rustic seat ; 
Amid the air are forms alive, 
Like bees around a honeyed hive — 

They there in conclave meet. 

When through the star-lit fields of night, 
The last pale ray of dying- lig-ht 

Hides behind yon distant cloud, 
I ling-er 'neath the drowsy trees, 
And listen to the passing- breeze, 

Beneath nig-ht's sable shroud. 

How blest the stillness dwelling- there, 
With heart and head devoid of care, 

In closing- twilight shade, 
We weave into life's broken threads, 
A woof of thrums and endless shreds, 

With g-olden plaits inlaid. 

The troubled thoug-hts that hide away, 
In smiling- sunsets, "Fading- ray", 

Do not disturb my rest, 
When there I meet the spirit throng, 
And hearken to diviner song, 

It soothes my aching breast. 



172 POEMS. 



There is to me a realm of bliss, 
When sunbeams and the shadows kiss, 

On life's uneven sea ; 
I turn my g-aze from day to day, 
With minstrels of that world away, 

And from my toils are free. 

Whence come the snares, and aimless 

strife, 
Blent with the daily cares of life, 

To lure the heart astray, 
And deftly whispered doubts to solve, 
Unless with absolute resolve, 

We conquer every day. 

When from the brig-htening burnished 

skies, 
The fleecy clouds with silvery dyes, 

Hang- o'er the woody hills, 
With myriad leaflets trembling- near, 
The lulling- melodies I hear, 

And my sad heart it stills. 

The fears around so thickly lie, 
Like clouds athwart my fitful sky, 

As visions pass away ; 
I then have webs of joy to weave, 
And bid the misty vapors leave, 

Where shines hope's radiant ra} T . 



POEMS. 173 

As safe beneath its cheering- beams, 
The soul enjoys its blissful dreams, 

Adown life's open sea ; 
Or rising- o'er our storm-cleft earth, 
Rejoicing- in its lofty birth, 

Fulfills its destiny. 



LITTLE SONGSTER. 



Thou hast melodies that waken 
All the g-olden threads of life. 

Driving from my heart its sadness 
Oft so worn with grief and care ; 

Blessing with your songs of gladness, 
Flinging sunshine everywhere, 

Full of pleasure, full of joy, 

Sweetest songster, little boy. 



L £s 



Rless'd thy childish song-s as g-entle, 
As the streamlets whisperVl thrill, 

Ring-ing- with its sweetest murmur, 
On the fleecy waves of air ; 

Bringing back to life its summer, 
Breathing- pleasure everywhere, 



174 POEMS. 



Till my heart is full of joy, 
Sweetest songster, little boy. 

In the rush of passing- moments, 
Comes the memory of your song-, 

Melting- with its childish fervor, 
All my thoug-hts of deep unrest ; 

And my heart more g-lad than ever, 
As if in an angel's rest, 

Weaving- into life new joy, 

Sweetest songster, little boy. 



AN ODE TO THE SPIRIT OF POESY. 



Maiden from the orient skies, 
With thy love-lit beaming eyes, 
Where Ivan's rivers peaceful flow, 
And Kasmere's sweetest roses grow, 
Springs like Pagoda's golden chimes, 
From thy sweetest fairest climes, 
Breathing through each r} T thmic line, 
Lovely maiden, Aveline. 

Daughter of Islam's fairy isles, 
Sweetly woo my heart with smiles ; 



POEMS; 175 



Virgin from thy queenly bower, 
Wove with all thy subtle power ; 
Maiden, fairest, loveliest, 
Ang-el purest, holiest, 
Breathe on each impassioned line, 
Lovely fairy, Aveline. 

Love which fills thy dreamful eyes, 
Ere their tender passion dies, 
Softer than thy eider bowers, 
Sanctified with scattered flowers ; 
To my slowly throbbing- heart, 
Swift thy burning- g-low impart, 
To each vagrant wand'ring- line, 
Lovely spirit, Aveline. 




176 POEMS. 



ALL I KNOW. 



I am, and this is all I know, 
With life so strangely plan'd, 

And all its wond'rous myst'ry veiled, 
By an Almighty hand. 

Since it is infinite in reach, 

I can no limit grasp, 
Nor even, with my deepest thought, 

Unlock a minor clasp. 

And yet to know that which I know, 
That God has placed me here, 

Should from my soul drive every doubt, 
And rill my heart with cheer. 

At times it gives such wond'rous bliss, 
Of conscious thought and pow'r, 

I turn with rapture to its source, 
And bless the sacred hour. 

I, too, have watch'd its secret growth, 

And trembled at decay, 
For fear its powers might soon depart, 

And slowly pass away. 

I've cast the sum of human life, 
E'en with the utmost care, 



POEMS. 177 



To find the worth of every good, 
Alloted to my share. 

I feel my beating- heart and ask 

The measure of its pow'r, 
And find its deeper mysteries 

Increasing- every hour. 

I know my will's unyielding- force, 
And tremble at its streng-th ; 

Still wond'ring- at its waywardness, 
And brevity of leng-th. 

I've felt the pleasure born of love, 
And, have been curs'd with hate ; 

While searching- for relief in vain, 
Have murmured at my fate. 

I've chased the spectral g-host of greed, 
And grudg-ed my neig-hbor's fame ; 

Then shrank with a condemning- sense, 
Of what was to my shame. 

I've loved this life for passion's sake, 

Till fleeing- to my den, 
So deeply shackeled with remorse, 

I shunned the face of men. 

I've felt pride's cancer g-naw my heart, 
Nor would oug-ht bring- relief, 



178 POEMS. 



For stern remorse with crushing force 
O'erwhelmed me with deep grief. 

I from the cup have often drank, 

Filled to its brim with joy, 
But found that all its sweetest dregs 

Were more than half alloy. 

From this unreas'ning course I own, 

I did not wisely turn ; 
Yet felt such fruits of bitterness, ■ 

Its ways I could but spurn. 

And yet 't was destitute of joy, 

Nor less to-day appears 
Each purpose of my waning life, 

Mingled with doubts and fears. 

The days that break with smiling 
beams, 

Oft close with sullen skies ; 
And often hope we deem most sweet, 

Before the morrow dies. 

I've suffered pain within my heart, 

Well nigh e'en to despair, 
And curs'd the fate in my distrust, 

That led my footsteps there. 

I now have learned, yet dearly too, 
How that selfishness of heart 



POEMS. 179 



Is purposeless for human good, 
And must distrust impart. 

I've yearned for something - all unknown, 

Yet with unwise desire, 
In all the bitterness of thoug-ht, 

That heartaches can inspire. 

Until a pure and heav'nly ray, ' 

Born of a thoug-ht divine, 
Dispersed the dreary clouds of doubt, 

And soothed this heart of mine. 

And now my cup full, yes o'erbrim'd, 

Is free from all alloy ; 
For if my eyes are filled with tears, 

My heart is full of joy. 



180 POEMS. 



JULIAN. 



Swift the wheels of fate are rolling 
On the spectral ghosts of crime, 

And the brazen tongues of evil 
Mock the prophecies of time. 

Man meets man in sullen anger. 

As if waiting- for the fray, 
While the starry constellations 

Look confused, as in dismay. 

Still the curfew rings out warnings, 
From the mountains to the sea. 

And the ancient rocks of Plymouth 
Mourn the fate of liberty. 

Passion with its wild commotion, 
Has departed from the right, 

And the sky that shone with brightness, 
Is fast fading into night. 

Have the reapers frightened Julian, 
From the harvest field now fled ? 

Does the infant child of freedom 
Need a place to lay its head ? 



POEMS. 181 



Still the rising- billows quickly ; 

Pour your oil upon the sea ; 
Ring- the joyous bells of freedom, 

With the anthems of the free. 

There are whispered voices speaking-, 
From the nations of the dead ; 

Hearken, Julian, to their messag-e, 
Ere they come with martial tread. 

Battered is my heart, and broken, 
As the waves ag-ainst the lea, 

Or as reeds that winds have shaken, 
When they blew across the sea. 

Yet how deep has been the passions 
That were fostered here so long-, 

Till the nation groans with ang-uish 
At the burden of its wrong-. 

I have watched the lichen growing-, 
Lonely o'er my mother's grave, 

Till it hid the earth above her, 
As the sea-bed hid by wave. 

In life's crimson flush I've eaten 
Fruit that seemed without a thorn, 

Yet it pierced my heart and palate 
With a pang- of poison born. 



182 POEMvS. 



I have sat beside the marble, 

Read the tracing's that they bore 

Eulogistic of the lost ones, 
That have gone forevermore. 

Pampered wrongs make painful festers, 
That may heal here nevermore ; 

Cursed be hands and hearts forever, 
That would seek to wrong the poor. 

Hell no union has with heaven ; 

Centuries this fact has proved ; 
Sudden, bitter cries for vengeance, 

Oft have deepest wrongs removed. 

Julian, I have seen the sunshine 
Fading from thy youthful face, 

Seen the mouth of covert error 
Kiss fair lips to their disgrace; 

Watched the cruel archers aiming 
Deadly arrows at thy breast ; 

Heard the riven thunders echo, 
That disturb a nation's rest. 

Throttle quick an evolution 

That would change the laws of God; 
Teach your children higher wisdom, 

If you do it with a rod. 



POEMS. 183 



Truth is trampled or neglected, 
Trodden by the foot of shame, 

Yet the mocking- soul-disturbers 
Do it with a Godly name. 

Back then, Julian, to your harvest ; 

Deeper till your fallow field ; 
Plow around the tree of freedom, 

It a better fruit shall yield. 

Chase no longer rays of sunlight ; 

Seek the morning's brighter flame; 
Such a heritage to squander 

Would disgrace your Christian name. 

Never was bequest of heaven 

To a people half so great ; 
Would you feast on desolation, 

Drunken with the spume of hate ? 

Shun the theorist and shyster, 
With their emptiness of heart, 

Who would change eternal wisdom 
For the shallow schemes of art. 

Cursed the fool, in youth or manhood, 
That would laugh at Right's defeat ; 

Let the elder brother's knowledge 
Guide the younger brother's feet. 



184 POEMS. 



Clutch with deadly grasp the railer, 
That would Christians here dispart ; 

Let the offspring-, as the wedlock, 
Have a unity of heart. 

Age is harvesting- confusion ; 

Youth is burdened with its care ; 
Hearts are eager for excitement — 

Will the fruitage be despair ? 

Once in spring-time life was sunshine, 
When the flowers throve and grew, 

Ere the canker-worm had ruined 
Beauty, fragrance, form, and hue. 

There were streams of milk and honey 
Running through thy verdant mead; 

Then as now lay treach'rous quicksands, 
Which the passer-by must heed. 

Dark perhaps my forms and figures ; 

Cold the winds appear to blow ; 
And the fruit that mortals g-ather, 

Oft are eaten to their woe. 

Can you wake the harp that's broken, 
Or arouse the lute unstrung ? 

Will you save a fallen nation, 

Teach your wisdom to the young. 



POEJMS. 185 



Bind around this golden circle 
Ties that never know dismay ; 

Link them with the soul of freedom, 
Bound to truth, and that for aye. 

Had you deeper deeps but measured, 
Had you higher heights but climbed ; 

If the heart had been unruly, 

'T would be mastered by the mind. 

Watch the smothered passions rising-, 
Take of them a surer heed, 

Smiting back the craven biters, 
Ere they cause thy heart to bleed. 

Crush the blind worm now that fattens 
On the heart of freedom's root, 

Hush the sullen cries of discord, 
Shun the proffered poison fruit. 

Search 'mong orient fallen nations 
For the ways where freedom fell ; 

Aim thy arrows, surer, swifter, 
Than did patriot arm of Tell. 

Cast away thy lawless passion, 

Tread it 'neath thy feet with scorn ; 

Flee this new-found am'rous lover, 
Seek thy early love first born. 



186 POEMS. 



Has the lesson learned been bitter, 
Fix it in the minds of youth ; 

Let the union be encircled 

With the g-olden clasp of truth. 

Rudderless thy ship has started 
O'er wild passion's shoreless sea ; 

Rig-ht must be the trusted pilot, 
And the vessel rig-hted be. 

I had hoped in early childhood. 

Once to sing- a freer song-, 
Now my lips are parched with fever, 

And my tong-ue is dumb with wrong". 

Hope predicts a brig-hter morning-, 
Bring-ing- back a long-er day, 

When thy honored head, O Julian, 
Shall not wear a crown of clay. 

Rash your course has been oft, Julian, 
Would you be a tyrant's tool, 

And destroy your sacred birthrig-ht, 
With his ever chang-ing* rule ? 

Chasing- the illusive phantom 

That his greed or fancy wroug-ht, 

Till the castles you were building- 
Have all vanished into naug-ht. 



POEMS. 187 



Gather wisdom from the ages ; 

Seek the clearer realms of day ; 
Shun the servile restless tricksters 

That would throw your rig-hts away. 

Don't embrace her as do lovers ; 

Meet her offered kiss with scorn ; 
Break the hungry tooth, if sharper 

Than a pointed lance or thorn. 

Would you let the vixen g-amble 
On your father's home roof tree, 

Standing- by in stupid silence 
Till you've lost your liberty ? 

Strengthen now your thoug-hts with 
wisdom, 

If you scorn a brother's song*, 
Flee her deadly clammy touches ; 

Never barter rig-ht for wrong-. 

Does thy heart e'er smart with canker, 
From the touch it does impart, 

Have thy lips e'er pressed her forehead, 
In thy vanity of heart ? 

Lives are but the living- poems, 
Sweet or bitter smiles or tears, 

Where the evil plotters batten, 
And the timid shrink with fears. 



188 POEMS. 



Oh if I had but one written, 
Sounding- passion to its root, 

Planted in the early spring-time, 
Now it might have ripened fruit. 

Barren are the hills and sombre, 

Arid are the desert plains, 
And the thorns that grow around me, 

Pierce my heart with stinging- pains. 

Once, 'tis true, I loved the mirage, 
Silent-footed chased the same 

Through the burning sands at mid-day, 
Vainly sought to reach its flame. 

With that dread impression leaving 
But the mem'ry of its strife, 

Watch the troubled waters boiling 
With the ills of social life. 

Yet, O Julian, long I've loved you, 
Long have cursed the fated shrew, 

That would fill thy cup with poison, 
Hast'ning doom before 't was due. , 

Vice with virtue ne'er united, 
Saving on corrupting grounds, 

Leaving virtue prostrate lying, 
Sinking under deadly wounds. 



POEMS. 189 



There is danger, Julian, sitting- 
On the threshold of your door 

Demon footsteps wait to enter, 
With their ruin evermore. . 

Will the roses ever blossom 
Here upon their native stem. 

And your ancient, arg-ent lily 
Deck ag-ain your diadem ? 




190 POEMS. 



JOYS AND TEARS. 



Tears here ever follow pleasure, 

Joys come always after pain, 
Blessings, if they come with sorrow, 
Troubles if we have to borrow, 
Treasures yet for us to gain. 

Sunshine follows after darkness, 
Heartaches too we cease to feel ; 

Full of lessons worth the learning, 

Daily in our life returning, 

That would half our troubles heal. 

That there's wisdom deeply hidden, 

For wise purpose must be true. 
This the living God has taught us, 
In the doubting world about us, 
If we only, only, knew. 



POEMS. 191 



THE OLD CHURCH. 



I see in remembrance the day when in 
pleasure, 
I g-azedwithdelig-ht on this now broken 
dome, 
When childlike I counted each niche here 
a treasure, 
And deemed it as sacred as infancy's 
home. 

I've sat in seclusion, its beauty beholding-, 
While charmed with the music that 
rang- from its bell, 
Till the echoes kept on with the sym- 
phonies rolling-, 
With anthems I thought that from 
dreamland had fell. 

The doves are now building their rooks 
in the steeple, 
The sunbeams once graced with a bril- 
liance divine ; 
The home of my fathers ; a Puritan peo- 
ple, 
Whose mem'ries were written so plain 
on its shrine. 



192 POEMS. 



Ere time then had riven these moss- 
covered wall, 
Or the lintel away from the doorway 
was thrown, 
When the roofing- was firm where the 
rafter now falls, 
Or the rail from the chancel had from 
it been blown. 

Oh, how sadly each crevice bespeaks of 
decay — 
These old broken stiles where the ivys 
now climb ; 
Where nevermore minstrels shall awaken 
their lay, 
Nor echoes, reecho one note of their 
chime. 

A desolate wreck in its sad fallen great- 
ness, 
So lonely, alone by the wayside it 
stands, 
Still leaving- my mem'n- more deepened 
with sadness. 
For the winds have torn from the dial 
its hands. 



POEMS. 193 



THE 5HI0C RIVER. 



Here by this placid, drowsy stream, 
Hid 'neath its wildwood leafy bow'r, 

I 've sat in midnight's darkened beam, 
Enraptured with its magic pow'r. 

How oft in bygone years I 've seen 

These banks with bloom and verdure 
spread, 

And their soft dress of brown and green, 
Has gently yielded to my tread. 

Oft in these shaded ways I 've trod, 
Beneath the arching maple boughs, 

And in mute converse with my God, 
Repentant, I have pledged my vows. 

When evening winds the branches stirred, 
As sunlight faded from the west, 

So softly are the whispers heard, 
They lull these peaceful vales to rest. 

Yet 'neath these unfrequented shades, 
There lies a long, unmeasured void ; 

Deep through the leaf-embowered glades, 
No lapse of ages have destroyed. 



194 POEMS. 



The silence of these winding- ways 

Shall no more with their song-s awake; 

Nor warrior minstrels with their lays. 
Shall tread thy banks of fern and brake. 

These lone, sequestered nooks, unsougdit 
By scarcely one to love or claim, 

Have long- their silent lessons taught, 
Of those who used to love the same. 

Tall g-iant trees of oak and elm. 

Their lofty branches proudly rear, 
As symbols of an ancient realm, 

Whose leg-ends time has buried here. 

And these dim lines with trees o'ergrown, 
Tell of an unknown race of men ; 

For once this grove, to me long- known, 
In ag-es past, was peopled then. 

These silent wilds I rudely name, 
With nature's native beauty dressed. 

Unhonored and unknown to fame. 

Are still with tenderest sweetness blest. 

No g-entler breeze, with fond caress. 

On Alpine summits ever fell, 
Nor bloom than does these woodlands 
bless 

With beauty's soft entrancing- spell. 



POEMS. 195 



No grand celestial towers rise, 
Built by a nobler race of men ; 

Yet 'neath each shapeless mound there 
lies 
A lone, sad tale of what has been. 

These crumbling- mounds, from ages past. 
With dark oblivion's shadows close, 

Save, that the visions which they cast, ' 
Of those who in these graves repose. 

Now darkness wraps the distant plain, 
And sounds sweet as Elysian song-, 

From wild bird throats with glad refrain, 
The evening breezes float along-. 

The moon's pale, solitary beam, 
Reflective falls upon the glade ; 

The night winds kiss the crystal stream, 
In twilight's last faint closing shade. 

No night nor morn with orient ray, 
E'er brighter train of glory drew, 

Nor woke to life a lovelier day 

Than falls, dear forest shades, to you. 

Jenistan's fairy, sunlit bow'rs, 

With blooming Tooba's blissful tree, 

And all its pleasure-giving pow'rs, 

Is no more blest, dear shades, than thee. 



196 POEMS. 



IMMORTALITY. 



Like sweetest flow'rs in early May dews 
born, 
With ripened fragrance of the mother 
earth, 
That storms ne'er sever from their native 
thorn, 
Nor blight the bloom that they pos- 
sessed at birth. 

Along- the lapsing- distance of the years, 
It comes with touch of pathos to con- 
sole ; 
Above the wastes of all life's shifting 
fears, 
And long-ing* whispers of a widowed 
soul. 

The hopes that spring- from some im- 
mortal sphere, 
Round which all outward forms of life 
revolve, 
Without the knowledg-e of God's purpose 
here, 
Mirrored in fullness of his perfect love. 



POEMS. 197 



Souls filled with gladness of unspoken 

j°y» 

Not bound by limits of our human 
thought, 
ExpressVl by life's pure gold without alloy, 
Into unseen and outward life inwrought. 

There comes back as the sunlight disap- 
pears, 
Through twilight of this world and 
that between, 
Piercing through darkness of the circling 
years, 
The glory of immortal light now seen. 

Effulgent realms, where lucent stars of 
night, 
Look down from fields made bright with 
gold, 
Where angel footsteps tread the shores of 
light, 
And safely rest in God's celestial fold. 



198 POEMS. 



SUNLIGHT AND SHADOWS. 



I know you think it foolish I should hold 
As true, there is much bitterness in life, 

Since I'm no alchemist to find the gold, 
Amid the elements of crime arid strife. 

Because I would untrammeled probe the 
heart, 
Where sorrow hides away in deep dis- 
guise. 
Not seen in acting- its dissembled part, 
Like yours and mine % which undis- 
covered lies. 

I have no sweetness for my burdened 
back ; 
You think my lot is wormwood mix'd 
with g-all ; 
Yet I have joys like l 'Christian with his 
pack, 1 ' 
That for all else I would not change at 
all. 

Why should I fear the ills which shall 
conserve 
To make my heart to love this life the 
more : 



POEMS. 199 



If bitterness I rind, sure I deserv 



r e 



To teach mv soul God's gfoodness to 



.-> 



adore. 



I own it has for me dark days of tears, 
And yet bright days of joy lie "over 
there;" 
And all the griefs I may have known in 
years, 
Die like a dream and save me irom 
despair. 




200 POEMS. 



A CHAOS SOMETIMES. 



A chaos sometimes seems to close 

Around me every where, 
And yet may rays of light disclose 

A perfect system there. 

If of to-day I little know, 

Yet this I know is true : 
That scythes of time teach me to mow, 

And g-ather wisely too. 

But not of sordid tempting- dross, 

That may my feet beset ; 
To g-ain it all would be a loss, 

And greater loss beg-et. 

Yet truth, God's truth, the g-olden coin, 

Which labor will bestow, 
From out the depth of nature born. 

Through toiling- I may know. 

For jewels on my path are strewn. 
And round my feet have lain, 

That may out of the rocks be hewn, 
Though at the cost of pain, 



